


Written In The Scars

by rainaround



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts, M/M, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Professors, Slow Burn, Teachers, Teachers AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainaround/pseuds/rainaround
Summary: Draco and Harry end up going back to Hogwarts to help first years learn how to ride a broom while Madam Hooch is taking a year off and their competetive streak flares up again in the worst best ways possible. Meanwhile, every student and teacher at Hogwarts is about to break down because of how obvious their attraction to each other is. Well, to everyone except each other.





	1. Part 1

Harry was sitting in the Headmaster’s office, a tin of biscuits open, a cup of tea sitting in front of him with wisps of steam rising from it. McGonagall was sitting across from him at the heavy oak desk, holding her own cup of tea with both incredible poise and undeniable authority, something that Harry hadn’t known to be possible before that day. Harry stares at the tin of biscuits and considers her offer, frowning to himself just a bit.

 

“Well Mr.Potter, will you do it?”

 

The Headmistress fixes him with a stare and takes a sip of scalding tea without breaking eye contact.

 

Harry glances away, “Yes, I think I will.”

 

A small smile forms on the thin line of her stern lips and she sets her tea cup down, “Excellent to hear Mr.Potter, we’ll have a room ready for you a week before the first term starts. Hopefully you’ll be able to meet your new teaching partner by then too. That is of course, if he accepts my offer, but I have a good feeling about him.” She sighs then smiles lightly.

 

Harry perks up a little at the pronoun; it had been the first and only clue about who his said teaching aid would be and Harry was a bit curious to who she had selected to help temporarily fill Madam Hooch’s place. Of course Harry had already asked who would be assisting him, but McGonagall had simply deflected his questions and said “It’s a surprise.” and after further prodding she had declared that it’s only fair not to tell Harry since she wouldn’t be telling the other person trying out for the job about him.

 

Harry hadn’t really thought much about who the other person applying for the job would be, but had felt relieved to know that they weren’t vying for the job to just get close to Harry.

 

He had too many bad experiences with people who treated him like a celebrity. At his last job as an Auror Harry had been both praised and worshiped by his coworkers and loathed by his superiors for his status. It had been stressful and overwhelming to so much as walk into the atrium due to his fame, so as his relationships with coworkers grew more and more strained he finally just quit his job and moved back into Grimmauld place. After looking back on it he wasn’t entirely sure how he had put up with it for four years, he guessed it was partially because for two of those years he had been in auror training.

 

In training it had been much easier to convince himself that everything was back to normal. Everyone was treated much the same and everyone was too concerned with reparations from the war to pay any attention to Harry or whatever he was doing. So he had worked hard and completed the program in two years and began his job as a low ranking auror. It had been fine for the first few months. Do a little paperwork, help solve a few small cases, help out every now and then, it had been normal,  _ fine _ . But then, one day like a switch had been flipped, the prophet suddenly started to write articles about him again, and every known detail of his personal life had suddenly became everyone’s business.  

 

After that everyone in the Auror department had regarded him with either a cold professionalism or a very friendly demeanor, a little bit too friendly. As he rose to fame again, he kept getting unfair promotions, special treatment, and in exchange he guiltily went to charities and balls and everything in between. Some of his superiors admired him and others absolutely loathed him, but it had all became too much when The Daily Prophet strayed a bit too far into his personal life.

 

He still remembered the headlines, the whispering, the the extra stares. He hadn’t even known when he stepped into his shared office that one of his most personal secrets had been uncovered, that something that he had only once told his two closest friends had drifted out into the world.

 

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him, professor.” Harry says after the long pause his thoughts had taken up ended.

 

Harry truly is excited, he just hoped that they didn’t mind that Harry was Harry, if that even made sense.

 

McGonagall gives a knowing smile tinted with some emotion Harry can’t quite place, perhaps akin to bittersweet nostalgia, “I’m sure he can’t wait to meet you too.”

 

Harry stands and shakes the headmaster’s hand, thanking her warmly, then walks towards the floo, scooping up some powder and flooing to Grimmauld place.

 

As he bustles about the dark kitchen he mulls over this new offer he just accepted; he had a good feeling about this new job, and about this unknown person. If Harry was lucky they wouldn’t care about who he was, or what the daily prophet says about him.

 

They maybe wouldn’t even care that he was gay.

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

Draco sat at his little table beside the single dingy window in the small kitchen of his muggle flat, staring out at the overcast sky. In front of him was a single untouched cup of earl grey tea, too cold to drink now, but the lingering smell of tea leaves and bergamot was comforting to him in a way. It reminded him of tuesday morning tea with his mother when his father wasn’t home, it reminded him of a home he couldn’t return to. A home, a house, filled with more bad memories than good.

 

He still had nightmares. About  _ it _ , about the demon of his old home, about the monster that killed so many, about the people, about the screams, the pain. He clutched his cup a little tighter and brought it up to his lips, grimacing at its cold temperature.

 

He tore his mind away from the dark turn his thoughts were about to take and instead focused on the dreary, overcast landscape of the muggle city he had now lived in for a few years. Leeds was the name of it, but he honestly didn’t know very much about the city even though he had lived there for almost four or five years now. He had even taken up a job at a library near his flat for a few years. Of course he hadn’t actually needed the job but if he hadn’t had something to do he would’ve gone mad in the first year. That, and working at the library had been a wonderful way to learn about muggle culture.

 

The library was full of books, books about everything, books about muggle electronics, muggle money, muggle culture, muggle everything! At first he had been wary of it all, but once he started to read about their inventions, he couldn’t stop. He had been particularly enamored with an encyclopedia about all sorts of electronic muggle devices and their uses. He had been so enchanted by it, that he actually bought a copy book from a nearby bookstore and it now sat on his shelf.   

 

Yes, Draco had certainly adapted well to the muggle world in his five years of being in solitude.

 

Well, maybe not solitude. He had a few muggle acquaintances that he talked to weekly, at least. There was the lady that ran the library and her daughter, the old man that reshelved books sometimes, and the handsome bloke who worked at the cafe next to the Aire library.  Draco sighs a little and pictures his sparkling eyes, his stylishly tousled curls, his tan skin, his smile… it was easy for Draco to admit he had a small crush on the man. Draco takes another sip of cold tea and grips his mug a little harder; of course being so attractive, Draco hadn’t been so surprised to discover that he had a girlfriend. He scowls to himself and glares at the kettle on the range, wishing it would refill itself.

 

Draco sighs, and stares longingly out at Leed’s deary, picturesque landscape, wishing that he could go back to the wizarding world and live a normal life. Sure Draco was living a normal life right now, albeit a safe yet incredibly dull one, but there was just something missing. It wasn’t the magic, he had actually been able to adapt well to not using his wand as much (except for cleaning, there were a few lines that he  _ would not  _ cross and cleaning a toilet the muggle way was one of them), and he was certain that it wasn’t excitement that he was missing. Draco had had enough excitement to last him his entire life, after the dark lord’s return and all. No, Draco had something else that just wasn’t there and he hadn’t discovered what it was yet.

 

His mind wanders back to the man from the cafe and he wonders what it would be like to have someone in his life. It wasn’t that he was lonely… he didn’t  _ need  _ anyone, but he wondered what it would be like. What it would be like to wake up next to a warm body, to share things in his life, to care for someone else, to trust and love someone else.

 

Draco stares down into the depths of his cup; well that had become intense.

 

He sits in a slight stupor for a few more moments; had he ever really ever cared about someone in a romantic way? Sure there had been Pansy, but that didn’t really count. He had only gone along with that because Pansy had insisted, not because he actually wanted to.

 

He wondered what it would be like trying to find someone. He obviously couldn’t try to find a muggle partner, they would just be too different, it would never work. And, with muggles out of his dating pool, Draco would be stuck with wizards or squibs.

 

It wasn’t exactly like anyone would ever accept a deatheater.

 

A heavy feeling settles over him, the kind that seems to fill his limbs with lead and bring a quiet, weighing dread. The kind that tells him he’s nothing, that everything he thinks or feels is nothing.

 

After all, no one could ever want a deatheater.

 

Draco’s eyes flit over to the opened letter sitting next to the salt and pepper shakers, the one with the Hogwarts wax seal on it. He could never go back to the wizarding world, no one would ever accept him for who he is, for what he is. The letter seems to be taunting him, like it knows that he can’t go back.

 

Draco would take the teaching position, he really would, if he didn’t have several major problems with it. A few being his general lack of knowledge of recent events in the wizarding world, everyone’s hatred for him and the name he carries, and the fact that he would be teaching alongside someone else. In the letter he had been assured that they had already been chosen and that they wouldn’t cause him any problems, but he was still wary.

 

Draco wasn't sure that he was even ready to return to the wizarding world after five years of isolation in the muggle world, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to adapt to that lifestyle again.

 

Draco cradles his head in his hands and rakes his fingers through his hair, ruining his carefully styled locks; he had to make a decision soon because in two weeks time students would be returning to Hogwarts. Why should he though? What positive impact could possibly come from returning? He had no friends or connections since Greg, Blaise, and Pansy stopped talking to him and Vincent… Draco hung his head; well, Vincent was gone,  _ dead _ .

 

Dead. So many were dead.

 

That’s another reason he couldn’t go back, there were just too many memories, too much pain, too much regret and remorse. Draco could barely deal with his self-loathing in the muggle world where no one knew or cared about him, how would he be able to cope when he went back, if he went back…

 

It didn’t matter, nothing mattered; it wasn’t like he was going back.

 

He stared at the letter and felt something stir in his chest again, something that he couldn’t ignore, something so rare to him that he considered a luxury.

 

Hope.

 

He could go back, he could live again, he could live and breath and laugh like he used to, he could be happy again, he could feel again. He could wake up every morning and feel like a real person instead of the hollow shell of who he used to be, of the person he could become again. What was there to hold him back? Fear? Doubt? Guilt? It had been five years since he had been home; he had to do this, he couldn’t pass this chance up.

 

He wandlessly accios some paper and a fountain pen then hastily begins to write out his response.

 

“ _ Dear Headmaster Mcgonagall, _

_ I would be happy to fill the needed staff position…” _

  
  


_______________________________________________________________

 

_ -Two Weeks Later- _

Harry was feeling a bit nervous standing in his bedroom. Today was the day before the students would be returning to Hogwarts and it was also the day that he would be meeting his teaching partner.

 

He stares at his reflection and attempts to pat down his hair, or at the very least tame it a little bit, but it stubbornly sticks up in every direction as it always has. He deeply sighs and hopes that his assistant won’t notice or care.

 

Like it would matter; he was Harry Potter!

 

He groans and shoves his hands in his face and rubs at his eyes. Harry just really hoped that this new person would see him as an equal instead of constantly mooning around at him and asking for his autograph like a lovestruck teenager. Eugh, he had a coworker like that once, stars in her eyes and everything. Funny enough, the day after the article about his sexuality was published he didn’t really hear too much from her.

 

There was that looming issue too, the “If they happen to be homophobic I’m leaving the wizarding world to go raise goats in the countryside” issue.

 

He turns abruptly away from the mirror and pulls on a burgundy wool jumper;  it can’t go that bad, he was being nervous about nothing.

 

Still, he had to wonder who they were going to be.

 

He walked out of his quarters and began to walk up to the headmaster’s office to meet his new coworker. He jogged up the staircases leading to her office and tried to ignore the overwhelming amount of nostalgia and sadness that he now associated with the castle. He knew every single portrait, tunnel, and stone of this castle after attending Hogwarts and rebuilding it, yet somehow every time he looked around he always was reminded of something else. He still had to keep himself from openly grimacing every time he passes the spot where he killed Voldemort, or the place where Fred died. In a way it was also surreal. He had seen those things in what seemed like a lifetime ago, to look at those same things now was just alien almost.

 

He passes the girls bathroom where moaning myrtle resides, he passes the door where fluffy used to live, he passes the hallway leading where the room of requirement used to be.

Everything is the same as it has always been, yet so different at the same time.

 

He finds himself in front of the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s office in no time and says, “Fizzing Whizbees.”

 

The gargoyle leaps to the side and Harry sadly smiles at the password; Minerva had kept in the tradition of using candy as the password. Harry steps through the doorway and freezes.

 

At Minerva’s desk there was a man sitting with his back turned to Harry, a man with strikingly pale blond hair, so pale that it was almost white.

 

No. It couldn’t be…

 

He was wearing muggle clothes and reading a piece of paper that Minerva had given him. Minerva noticed Harry’s arrival and his panicked expression and says to Malfoy, “Well he has finally arrived it seems.”

 

The man turns around and Harry knows without a shadow off a doubt that it’s him. He had dark circles and bags under his eyes, his bones stood out a bit more, and his skin seemed a bit grey, but it was definitely Draco Malfoy. How… Malfoy hadn’t been seen in five years ever since the war, so what was he doing here, wearing muggle clothes no less?!

 

Malfoy’s face seems equally shocked at first, before shifting to pure panic, anger, then back to panic, before finally resting on emotionless and tired. It would be a bit disturbing if Harry knew he hadn’t done something similar.

 

Minerva just looks between the two boys and smiles smugly. “Why don’t you sit down Harry? We can discuss the parameters of your teaching positions now.”

 

Harry realizes that his mouth is still open and quickly shuts it and sits in the chair besides Malfoy who flinches a little but remains expressionless. Harry gives Malfoy a sidelong glance and wishes he could ask one of the many questions itching at him, like where had he been?, why was he wearing muggle clothes?, why was he here?, why did he look like he had been run over with a truck?, did Malfoy know what a tru-

 

“Mr.Potter, are you alright with that?”

 

“Uhhh, of course.”

 

Malfoy sighs, “I don’t think Potter was listening.”

 

Harry feels a spark of childish irritation but shoves it down.

 

“I asked if you would be okay that it’s Mr.Malfoy you will be teaching alongside.”

 

Harry glances at Malfoy hoping to glean some insight to what he was thinking, but he was the same as ever; dead eyed and staring at the wall, the corners of his lips turned slightly down. 

 

“I’m fine with it, I’m sure that we’ve grown beyond petty rivalries.”

 

Malfoy sits up but doesn’t take his eyes off the single point in the distance, “I agree.” He says.  

Minerva begins to pour Harry a cup of tea, “Well now since that has been addressed, we can get to the important details. I have a few requirements that must be fulfilled during your time teaching here in order for the both of you to be qualified to teach.”

The headmaster hands Harry his cup of tea and pulls out a sheet of parchment with several things jotted down on it, “Now, there are a few things on this list that are absolute requirements and are under no room for negotiation and there are a few things that can be taken as suggestions, however, I highly advise that you follow through with these items.” Minerva places the sheet of paper in between Harry and Malfoy and for a few brief moments their eyes meet, almost challenging the other to reach forward and grab the paper. Malfoy’s eyes flit away from him again and he goes back to staring at the wall behind Minerva’s head.

 

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Harry takes the paper and skims over it’s contents, unable to focus on the words no matter how hard he tries. When he is unable to stop the words from swimming across the page in a blur, he silently hands the parchment to Malfoy who takes it with a trembling hand. Harry glances at him out of the corner of his eye and wonder why he’s shaking so badly.  

 

Harry’s feeling of awkwardness continually grows worse as the silence stretches and he almost jumps when he hears Malfoy speak, “Headmaster, could you specify which of these rules are non-negotiable and which are not? It doesn’t address anything regarding this on the paper.”

 

Malfoy’s annoyingly posh voice is careful and slightly strained as he speaks; and it’s grinding against Harry’s already frayed nerves.

 

“Of course Draco.” Malfoy winces slightly and hands the paper back to her, “Thank you Draco. Now there are most certainly some rules and requirements on here that I will not tolerate being broken: however, I am confident in your ability to uphold these requirements and I’m not too worried.” Minerva levels a stare at the two of them just over the the frames of her glasses, “I can trust that I am correct in assuming this, yes?”

 

Malfoy looks uncomfortable, but mumbles yes. Harry simply nods and takes a sip of tea.

 

“Good. Some of these are more common sense than anything, but I still added them just in case I wasn’t being entirely clear about what is expected of you here. You are not to argue or fight in front of students, and- Oh, now don’t give me those looks. I know the two of you well enough to know that you are going to bicker no matter what, so don’t even think about telling me otherwise.”

 

Malfoy has his mouth open like he wants to say something, but doesn’t say anything at all. He just crosses his arms, leaving an indignant impression on his face. Harry would’ve laughed at his pouty demeanor if he wasn’t so busy feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed.   

 

Minerva smiles and continues, “Also I will not tolerate favouritism for students between houses, or year, which is also obvious, but I think the two of you can handle that. Also I am requiring the two of you to plan and teach every single one of your classes together.” If Minerva notice’s both of their shocked expressions she ignores them, “By this I mean you will make lesson plans for each class with consideration for the person who is assisting you and both of you will be present for all of your classes if possible. This is a joint teaching position and the both of you will treat it that way.”

 

Both Harry and Malfoy are stunned into silence, but Harry is the first to break it, “Are there any exceptions to this? I mean, if one of us gets sick and can’t even teach the class or make lesson plans, then what will we do?”

 

Minerva sighs, “Yes I suppose that is true. In that case the class will just have to make due with one teacher.”

 

Malfoy frowns then asks, “Could we make lesson plans separately and take turns doing that or do we have to collaborate on every single one?”

 

Harry frowns a little; that didn’t sound too bad actually. Taking turns meant that he would spend less time with Malfoy.

 

Harry’s dreams are crushed by Minerva’s response, “I’m afraid not Draco. I meant what I said. The both of you will be doing this job together, the planning, the teaching, the grading, all of it, and that’s final.” Minerva takes a sip of tea after she finishes speaking and that’s when Harry finally realizes that he is going to regret taking this job.

 

Malfoy looks similarly discouraged giving a soft, defeated sigh, so quiet that Harry barely hears it, and says, “Understood, Headmaster.”

 

A strained silence prevails for a few beats as Minerva stares Malfoy down with a raised eyebrow before gently setting her teacup down, “Draco, there’s no need to call me Headmaster, you know.”

 

Malfoy looks uncomfortably surprised, “Er, what would you like me to call you then?”

 

Minerva smiles, “Why, my name of course! We are colleagues after all.”

 

Malfoy has a terribly uncertain look on his face; halfway between a forced smile and a grimace. Nonetheless, he says, “Alright, I will… Minerva.”

 

Minerva smiles and Harry almost bursts out laughing at the expression on Malfoy’s face. He looked as if he had something particularly sour in his mouth and he was doing a poor job of covering up the expression with a weak, polite smile. Although, Harry remembers how odd it was to call Minerva by her first name for the first time; it just sounded so wrong for him to say it after calling her professor for all those years.   

 

“Alright, as the two of you know classes begin tomorrow, so you should really get to making your lesson plans. I really would not advise ‘just winging it’ as my students used to say.” Minerva straightens a few of the papers laying on her desk, mostly paperwork from the ministry, Harry notices, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much though, on the first day just introduce yourselves and lay down the groundwork for what you’ll be teaching this year; it’s nothing too difficult.” She says nonchalantly.

 

Malfoy looks distinctly uncomfortable, worrying the seam of his slacks with his fingernails, shifting awkwardly in his chair, “Do we have to hand in our lesson plans or anything.” At Minerva’s amused expression he rushes to explain, words tumbling out of his mouth with surprising speed, “It’s just that the teachers at the school near the library I worked at had to do that, and I always heard them complaining about it and...“ he trails off and and stares hard at the inkwell and quill on the desk as if it held the answers of the universe.

 

As Malfoy avoids Minerva’s gaze with obvious embarrassment Harry stares at his flushed face, baffled at how this Malfoy could possibly be the same as the one he knew years ago. The silence stretches with nothing but the ticking of the clock on the wall to interrupt it, Minerva still seemingly waiting for him to finish.

 

“No I will not be requiring that of you, Draco. If the both of you agree, you can teach the class without any planning at all, so long as your students do well.” Minerva says softly.

 

The silence lasts for a beat before stretching uncomfortably, clouding the room in a suffocating awkwardness prevailed only by the soft rustles of fidgeting. Minerva, oblivious to the previous bouts of uncomfortable stillness, seems all too aware of this one and speaks up, “Harry, will you show Draco where his room is? It’s the one right next to yours on the left.”

 

Harry starts and looks at Minerva with thinly veiled surprise, “Oh! Of course.” He stands up and turns to Malfoy, “Er, follow me Malfoy. It’s in the dungeons.”

 

Minerva looks pointedly between the two over the rims of her spectacles, “Harry, Draco is a colleague too. I believe that we should all be on a first name basis at this point.”

 

“Right! Uh, follow me then… Draco.”

 

Malfoy’s face has this pinched anxious look to it, but he stiffly rises to his feet and follows Harry out the door, their footsteps echoing off the rough stone floors.

 

As the door closes softly, stone grinding against stone, Minerva gets one last glimpse of the two as they leave and tiredly smiles, her amusement tinted with weariness.

 

“What on earth am I going to do with those two.” she says with a sigh.

 

Minerva looks to the wall covered with all of Hogwarts previous headmasters for any sort of guidance, but none offer a single word of advice, rather opting for silence in this matter.

 

_______________________________________________________________

Draco stands in the entrance of his new room, a sinking feeling falling in his chest as the reality of this moment strikes him. Here he was, standing here facing his future, with Potter- no Harry, standing behind him. The scent of whatever cologne he was wearing is overpowering and it leaves him with a sense that something in his life had been misplaced, and the scent was also, strangely enough… comforting. It seemed like an anchor in the cold empty air of the castle with it’s warm earthy scent reminiscent to that of a summer day.

 

Draco uneasily shifts on his feet and steps into the room, shrinking back from the cold disuse that permeates the air, shown by the thick layer of dust covering the coffee table. He lightly sighs; Draco couldn't help feeling as if the castle was trying to force him out, as if it was trying to send him a clear message through the cold uneven cobblestones and the dark unlit corridors, a message that he wasn’t wanted here. And honestly? Draco couldn’t agree with that sentiment more. He didn’t belong back here at Hogwarts, he didn’t belong in the wizarding world or even the muggle one; it seemed as if his very existence was meaningless and without belonging. Maybe McGonagall- Minerva- was the only one who wanted him here, he knew for certain that Harry didn’t.

 

As they had walked from the Headmaster’s office down to their rooms in the dungeons Draco could feel the tension stretching between them like a taut rubber band, it’s presence echoed in the tense line of Harry’s shoulders and the migraine beginning to pierce through his own skull. They had barely spoken, but Draco could still see the slight frown etched on the other man’s face.   

 

The same man, behind him now instead of beside him, clears his throat, “Er, I can call the house elves down here and while they get your room ready we can begin to make our lesson plans for tomorrow.”

 

Draco turns to face him, the confusion at his suggestion, he hopes, obvious on his face.

 

Harry nervously scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding Draco’s gaze, “I mean, uh, your room probably doesn’t seem very hospitable right now, I know it wasn’t for me when I arrived. Anyways you can wait in my rooms for the house elves to tidy the place up a bit before you settle in if you like.”   

 

Draco takes his offer into consideration, ignoring the part of his mind that is screaming for him to rush into the room, slam the door behind him, close the curtains, and sit on the mouldering sofa feeling miserable for himself. It’s a very tough decision and if Draco hadn’t already been prepared by the amount of time he had already spent awkwardly with Harry and Minerva today he would’ve done just that.

 

But, he sees the look on Harry’s face and it seems just as awkward, and nervous, and anxious as he feels, so he gives the most genuine polite smile he can muster and says, “That sounds brilliant actually, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

 

A flare of surprise lights Harry’s eyes as he didn’t think Draco would actually accept his offer, but he just nods and vaguely points towards a door further down the corridor, “Alright, I’ll just go get the kettle ready and call for Kreacher.”

 

Draco nods in response and drops his suitcase beside the entrance inside the inhospitable room and closes the door behind him, following Harry and feeling out of place in such a familiar yet foreign place.

 

He stands in the doorway, not wanting to enter without invitation, and watches as Harry disappears into what he assumes is his kitchen and return to the living room moments later muttering to himself. He stops for a moment staring at a small, terribly ugly loveseat in the room which is facing a dark grey armchair, looking as if he was trying to remember something that he forgot.

 

He turns so suddenly that Draco jumps, and a look of relief crosses Harry’s face, “Oh, there you are. Sit down for a bit, I’ve already called Kreacher to help sort out your rooms and I was kind of hoping that maybe we could talk.”

 

Draco was getting that urge again, the urge to run out of the room and down the corridor as fast as possible and hide in his rooms. He did  _ not  _ usually end up enjoying time spent talking with people; he had been hoping that Harry would just awkwardly sit in silence with him and avoid eye contact so he would never suggest spending time together again. Draco had employed this method with two people who had asked for his number before and was relieved that they did not ask for a second date. Arguably, this exact method would work just as well here and now. Just sit here with his tea and scrutinize Harry and Harry’s various knick knacks and clean shelves with a critical eye as conversation grew more sparse and awkward.

 

He realizes that he had been standing staring Harry down for a while now and cautiously makes his way to the ugly burgundy loveseat and sits down, “What is it that you wanted to talk about?” he asks.

 

He looks as if he’s been caught off guard and stares him straight in the eye, “Er… a few things I guess, but-”

 

He is interrupted by the sound of a timer going off and he says, “Hold on I’ll be back in a mo’.” and rushes into his tiny kitchen.

 

Draco takes this moment to openly look around at Harry’s decor and belongings, unsurprised by the lack of coordination between colors and the general chaotic disorder in the way things were organized. He had a bookshelf full of books (mostly mystery novels, he noticed) and a few trinkets; one made of brightly colored glass and a few looking as if they were crafted by a child’s unskilled hand. He didn’t really have many paintings or art on his walls, just a poster for the Hollyhead Harpies and a few framed pictures of him and the Weasleys all standing together waving at the camera.

 

He stared at those few pictures for a moment, they appeared to be taken around the holidays and they all wore garishly bright sweaters with letters on them. In one Harry was standing next to Granger and Weasley (the one he had always been friends with) and also the female Weasley (the young one). He was smiling widely at the camera, an actual genuine smile, and it left Draco with this uncomfortable twisting sensation in his gut; he had no right to be here, looking at such happy memories that didn’t belong to him. He had no right to be sitting here on this ugly loveseat looking at a life that didn’t belong to him, looking at something that should’ve been so private, so treasured. It felt as if he were alienating the life of a stranger and he hated it, he hated how he felt so out of place in this room, in this castle, in this world he didn’t belong in.

 

Draco hears the clatter of dining ware and Harry walks into the room, levitating a tea tray down onto the coffee table, swiping a few magazines and a newspaper to the side. As he does so, he barely catches the headline of one newspaper “ _ Saviour of the Wizarding World, GAY?!” _ .

 

As Harry gets settled in the grey armchair he points to the paper, curiosity and confusion itching at him, “Does that headline have any truth to it?” he asks in an offhand manner.

 

Harry pours himself a cup of tea and looks at the paper, stiffening when he sees the title, “Yes, do you have a problem that?” He asks, voice tight and strained.

 

Draco laughs a little and answers honestly, “I’m afraid not; I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I did.”

 

Harry’s eyes widen comically and he fumbles with his cup, almost spilling the tea everywhere, but manages to steady it and add milk and sugar to it, “Oh.”

 

Harry hands the cup to Draco and nervously pushes the unruly curls out of his eyes, “That’s good then. Not that you’re gay… not to say that being gay is bad, that’s not what I’m trying to say at all! I’m gay, why would I say that being gay is bad? No, it’s good that you are okay with me being gay. Yeah that’s it.” he trails off and begins to make his own cup of tea, attempting to ignore Draco’s stare.

 

Draco took a sip of his own tea, hiding his smirk at Harry’s discomfort behind the cup, “So I take it that you didn’t invite me here to talk about each other's sexualities, right?” Draco asks when he sets down his cup.

 

“Er, no. I just wanted to… catch up I guess.”

 

Draco raises an eyebrow, “Why exactly would you want to catch up with your childhood nemesis?”

 

Harry frowns, “I wouldn’t really consider you my nemesis. And we’ll be working together whether we like it or not and also, ever since the war ended it’s like you dropped off the face of the earth. I haven’t heard a single word about you and I don’t remember seeing your name in the papers once in all this time!”

 

Draco is frozen, his mind attempting to process this and what it means. He sets his cup down, the delicate ‘clink’ sound it makes seeming muffled to him. Distantly he recalls exactly why he left the wizarding world, his mother’s and father’s death leaving him as an orphan in a world hostile to him, but he doesn’t say anything about that. He can’t even dredge up the anger to snarl and say unkind things to Harry about his disappearance.

 

Draco sighs, “Well I can assure you that I haven’t been up to anything bad. No evil plots or cunning plans, so there’s no need to be suspicious.” Just hours of silence and an empty library, he idly thinks to himself.

 

Harry has this look, perhaps concern, etched on his features. He stares a moment longer; no, it’s pity with just a touch of anger and frustration. “I’m not suspicious, I just want to know where you’ve been all these years. It’s been impossible for pretty much anyone who was in the war to avoid an interview of some kind and I wanted to know where you’ve been or at the very least how you managed to stay out of the public’s eye.”

 

Draco smirks, but there isn’t any feeling behind it, and drawls, “Why, do just want tips on how to avoid the paparazzi? I’m afraid I won’t be much help in that regard.”

 

Harry remains silent and gives him a half-hearted glare.

 

He sighs, “I moved to Leeds after the war and began renting out a flat.”

 

Harry’s eyes widen, “Leeds as in, muggle Leeds?”

 

Draco rolls his eyes, “No Harry, the wizarding Leeds with firewhiskey fountains and shops full of broomsticks. Yes muggle Leeds!”

 

“I was just checking.” Harry grumbles.

 

“As I was saying before someone rudely interrupted me, I moved to Leeds after the war. I figured that it would be best to stay out of the wizarding world for obvious reasons and to just move to somewhere where no one would know who I was or what I had done.”

 

Harry nodded, “What did you do in Leeds? You mentioned something about a library earlier.” At the strange look Draco gives him Harry continues, “I mean did you have a job or anything, I assume you did since you were there for five years.”

 

“Well, I didn’t really do much of anything in Leeds I’m afraid. I had the job at the local library so I wouldn’t go mad with boredom and I didn’t really talk to anyone or make very many friends. It was a hermit’s dream, really.”

 

Draco pauses, fully intending to stop right at this very second and never speak of his past again, but something about the way Harry is looking at him makes him want to continue. He has his legs crossed, his elbow resting on his knee and his head propped up on one hand, his fingers absently running through his stupid hair. That and his horridly bright eyes are locked onto him, earnestly waiting for him to continue his little ‘story’.

 

So he does continue, “I did learn a lot about muggles and muggle culture though from my time at the library. There were loads of books in the library and at first I liked to look at the non-fiction, I found muggle science to be particularly fascinating especially in how it relates to the wizarding world. There are plenty of scientific laws that magic seems to completely disregard, I mean transfiguration shouldn’t even be possible, or any kind of spellwork for that matter.”

 

Harry is frowning at him and Draco does his best to avoid looking at him, afraid that he somehow made him angry, but after a few moments all he says is, “You and Hermione should talk.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

He smiles, “Hermione loves to talk about all this stuff. She never did understand why wizards never questioned  _ how  _ magic works.”

 

“Well, I guess it’s because as children we were never told to question magic, or anything else now that I think about it. Anything that couldn’t be explained was to be feared, and anything that had the possibility to cause change was to be hated. We were taught to never change so everything else would stay the same.”

 

Harry nods, “I was taught something along the same lines, even though I was raised by muggles. Being different was something that was bad, even if it couldn’t be helped and even if you tried to hide it they thought you should be punished for it.”

 

“I didn’t know you were raised by muggles.”

 

“And I didn’t know you were interested in muggle science.”

 

Draco smirks, “Touche.”

 

Harry begins to discuss how they should teach their first classes that week, and Draco sometimes inputs his opinion on important things, like why it’s not a good idea to have the first years flying on their first day, and otherwise just nods along to whatever Harry says.

 

He takes this time to actually look Harry over, beyond the first glance one takes when meeting someone again, and is not too surprised to find that not much has changed over five years, appearance wise that is. He still had the same exact unruly curly hair, the same glasses, the same scar, and the same old dorkish demeanor. There were a few things that were a bit different too, even though they seemed the same. His clothes were different, but still too big on his skinny frame, he still took too much sugar in his tea, even though it wasn’t as much as before, and he still had that strange dancing light in his eyes, even if it seemed more weary than it once was.

 

Then there were the things that he was just beginning to notice about him, miniscule things he would’ve never paid attention to before. The single annoying, curly strand of hair that wrapped under the frame of his glasses and wouldn’t move, how his foot usually was always aimlessly tapping, or the way he sat leaning forward with his legs crossed, almost as if he was curling in on himself.

 

It was so strange to just be sitting here talking about teaching classes together with his former childhood nemesis, and noticing something miniscule like the way he sits or talks too much with his hands when explaining something.

  
  
  


Well, if Draco was being honest with himself it was strange for him to be sitting with someone and having a conversation that lasted longer than five minutes.

 

“So what are we going to do about the class that’s being asked to be tutored?”

 

“What?”

 

Harry picks up a piece of parchment, “Well here it says that we have a group that we need to tutor, but it doesn’t have any time on the schedule. It’s just more like a side note than anything.”

 

Draco takes the paper from him and reads over it, ignoring all of the scheduled classes and skipping to the last few items on the lists surprised to find that not only has extra tutoring had been requested, but also that they were both in charge of the duelling club.

 

“Never mind that, but why are we in charge of the duelling club? I didn’t know Madam Hooch was in charge of it.”

 

Harry shrugs, “She wasn’t, I think that Minerva just gave the job to us because she thought we wouldn’t have enough work to do without it. Also maybe we could do the tutoring after dinner, there should be enough time to do it then and between duelling club.”

 

“Yes, that sounds ideal. I just hope that there will be enough time in the day to handle it all.”

 

“Well there should be, and we only have to deal with dueling club on tuesdays and thursdays.”

 

“That’s good.” 

 

They both sit in silence for a few more moments, the ticking of a clock echoing from somewhere within Harry’s rooms, the silence growing more and more awkward for Draco as Harry reads through their class schedule a little longer. Draco finds himself tapping his foot anxiously, his gaze quickly flickering around the room settling on random objects and glancing away just as quick. All these things look like they belonged here, everything in this room belonged here, except for him. This not so new realization was twisting uncomfortably in his gut, writhing like a knot of serpents, poisoning his insides. His unease was growing more and more, building somewhere deep in his chest like it did whenever he had to go out into shops to buy groceries or other things. He had to leave. He had to get out now.

 

Draco clears his throat and stands, “I- I’m going back to my rooms now. It’s getting a bit late now and I have to unpack.” 

 

Harry looks up at him, still hunched over the schedule, “Oh? I didn’t realize.” He looks to the clock hanging above his fireplace and sighs, “Yeah I guess it is a bit late, well I’ll see you tomorrow. And remember, tomorrow may be our first day, but we don’t really have to do much of anything so don’t worry about it too much.” He smiles, hands Draco his schedule and begins to tidy up the tea tray. 

 

Draco says goodbye and walks to the door, his movements feeling shaky and unnatural, and leaves. He goes into his own rooms and shuts the door behind him and collapses against it, and lets out a shaky breath, ignoring the tension in his entire body, ignoring that little voice in his head. 

 

He waits a few moments, his back against the door, collecting himself.

 

And then he begins to unpack. 

_________________________________________________________


	2. Part 2

Harry was in turmoil. 

 

It was early in the morning, he had fallen out of bed, he couldn’t really remember any of the lesson plans he made with Draco the day before, and he couldn’t find his glasses. 

 

“Where are they?! I know left them beside the bed…” 

 

Harry groped around his bedside for them, knocking over a glass of water and almost falling over the mess of tangled bedsheets lying on the floor. He tries the drawer of his nightstand and rummages in there for a minute, but only finds his wand and some aspirin. 

 

His wand…

 

“Ugh! I’m such an idiot! Accio glasses!” 

 

He holds his hand out and the glasses are within his grasp in an instant, having being freed from his tangled hair. 

 

“You have got to be kidding me...” 

 

They had been on his head the entire time. 

 

He groans again, raking his hands through his hair and contemplates if it will even be worth it to get up and go to the dining hall for breakfast. It wasn’t like he  _ had  _ to be there anyways, he just had to be there when the students got here. 

 

He vanishes the water dripping down the side of his nightstand and reparos the shattered drinking glass with a sour expression.

 

His first day had gotten off to a  _ great  _ start.

 

Harry didn’t even want to imagine how ‘ _ great’  _ his second day when he would actually be teaching could go. That and teaching would either go great or be a complete nightmare considering who he would be teaching with. 

 

He pulls off his pajamas and pulls on a casual pair of slacks and a button up shirt, which he rolls up to his elbows- not wizarding robes, but appropriately casual and practical enough for a flying instructor, right? He considers what Draco would possibly be wearing; if he had been asked a question like this yesterday morning he would’ve scoffed and said some fancy robes and a pretentious attitude, but after seeing Draco for the first time in five years…. 

 

Harry frowns as he adjusts the sleeves of his shirt, he really didn’t have any idea what Draco was like now. He didn’t seem  _ anything  _ like he used to be; he didn’t even seem like the same person anymore. He remembers yesterday when Draco had been sitting with him in his own living room, annoyingly polite, considerate, and worrisome. It was as if somebody had taken all the rude, hateful, spiteful, fiery parts of him and replaced them with a kindness, politeness, just something  _ good _ . And Harry had no idea what part of this entire thing absolutely  _ enraged  _ him, what part of this riled him up so badly.

 

Maybe he hated the fact that Draco had been able to move on, maybe he hated the fact that Draco had been able to change for the better and  _ he  _ hadn’t, maybe he wished he had been able to remake himself and forget the war like Draco did. He  _ hated  _ this, this awful creeping fear that he would  _ never  _ be able to move on and change, this insecurity, this hopelessness. 

 

He hated that the people he used to hate were better than him now, that the people that used to love him hated him now for who he had always been. 

 

Harry shakes his head, almost as if he was trying to shake these bad thoughts out of his head, and walks into the washroom to brush his teeth, deciding that maybe he just hates change, maybe he just hates the fact that he has to move on. 

__________________________________

 

Saying that Draco was a bit nervous was an understatement.

 

Draco  _ knew  _ that he didn’t have any students to teach today, but that didn’t stop him from feeling tense. It didn’t stop his hands from shaking as he walked down the corridors of the castle, it didn’t stop his heart from beating too fast when he thought about for too long, and it didn’t help his nerves  _ one bit _ .

 

It also didn’t help to know that he would continually grow more and more anxious when the students arrived, when they arrived in  _ swarms  _ of loud, squeaky voices and all of them chattering about the new professors. All of them wondering why a deatheater was even allowed in the castle, let alone teaching children. He didn’t even want to imagine what their parents would say about him teaching if they didn’t know already.

 

Draco shakily exhales and takes a few careful breaths, breathing in even intervals, in time with his pace as he walks. This always calms him down somewhat. Never completely, he didn’t think that he would ever completely calm down if he was being brutally honest with himself,  but his hands weren’t shaking anymore and his ears stopped ringing, so he was calling that progress. 

 

He walks into the great hall, still feeling a bit out of control, carefully staring at the floor, avoiding the steady gazes of the other professors sitting at the head table, staring at the individual stones as he walks over them. He tries to focus on their shape, their color, the way that they are arranged, the sounds his shoes make as he walks over them- and slowly he feels the tension work it’s way to the back of his mind where he can deal with it later when he’s alone.

 

No one seems to notice Draco approach as they are all too busy talking about the beginning of classes and the arrival of new students. Draco sees a few familiar faces at the table, but is unable to recognize others. He recognizes Minerva, Hagrid, Professor Vector, professor Sprout, professor Sinistra, professor Flitwick, and Madam Pomfrey. Somehow, Filch is still around and is sitting at the far end of the table next to Hagrid. There’s two free chairs and Draco takes the one between an empty chair and next to Professor Vector, hoping that she won’t mind the deatheater sitting next to her. 

 

“Good Morning Draco, have you settled in yet?” Minerva asks. 

 

Conversation around the table quiets and the silence seems to fill the great hall, which is so vacant without the students there to fill the hall with raucous laughter and conversation. He can feel everyone staring at him with varying levels of disgust or curiosity, depending on how well they knew him, knew who he was.  

 

Draco swallows back the awful feeling rising up at the back of his throat and answers, “Er, Yes.” 

 

Draco wants to slap himself at such an awkward reply; everyone was still staring at him too, but now they seemed either surprised or incredibly uncomfortable. 

 

Minerva says, “Well that’s good. I hope that you looked at your schedule and made some lesson plans by now, the students will be arriving in only a few hours, after all.”

 

“Yes I have.” He says while grabbing some toast and preparing his tea. 

 

Minerva smiles, “Good, I was hoping that you wouldn’t have any trouble with your teaching partner. Sometimes it can be hard to see eye to eye with people that we had always disagreed with in the past.” 

 

Draco doesn’t really have any reply for that so he just nods in agreement. 

 

Eventually everyone stops staring at him, and the conversation moves on around him. He allows himself to relax a little bit as he drinks some of his tea and spreads jam on his toast. He allows his shoulders to untense a bit, his posture to relax a slightly. With nothing to occupy him, other than staring resolutely at the wall in front of him, he decides to actually listen to the conversation going on around him and pretend that he belongs here. 

 

“-and that’s why I no longer allow students to leave the class during brewing unless they need to go to the infirmary.” the new potions teacher says. Draco doesn’t know her name, but she couldn’t be much older than Draco was. 

 

Professor Sprout, or Pomena, says “What if they manage to give each other the ingredients before class begins? It’s ridiculously easy to get around certain rules if you know how.”

 

The potions professor smirks, “If they figure out how to safely smuggle bubotuber pus into class, and get by my spellwork without getting caught, then they probably deserve  _ extra  _ points.” 

 

Pomena chuckles to herself and drinks from her goblet, “I think you’re right about that, Ms.Helian.” 

 

“Please, call me Dahlia.” 

 

Pomena smiles, “Will do.” 

 

Draco finds the idea of a student attempting to smuggle extra bubotuber pus into class amusing, but doesn’t say as much aloud, rather preferring to think about what consequences a student might face, even he wasn’t caught. Draco wonders if he would have been able to sneak in extra ingredients to Snape’s class or steal extra ones. Snape probably had every ward, spell, or charm one could think of, protecting his ingredients storage. Draco sighs; Snape was a great teacher, and he had done a lot for Draco before he-

 

Draco is snapped out of his thoughts when someone sits in the empty chair next to him. 

He jumps in surprise; who is sitting next to him, why, what are they doing!? 

 

Oh.

 

It’s just Potter, no  _ Harry _ , sitting next to him because it’s the only seat available. He looks like an incompetent mess, as usual, but right now he looks like a tired, unprepared, incompetent mess. His glasses were on crooked, his hair was even worse than yesterday, and the bit of his shirt that he could see under his robes were rumpled. He looked haggard and tired even though classes have yet to begin. Yet, as he brightly talked with Minerva, he seemed like the farthest thing from messy and unprepared. If anything, he seemed wrought with anticipation and excitement for the beginning of his teaching career. His face was lit up by an easy smile, his eyes sparkled, everything about his posture seemed open and inviting. It was as if Harry was so happy that he was willing to give away whatever extra happiness he had to whoever was closest to him.

 

Draco realizes that he’s probably been staring for a bit too long, so he tries to focus on his half finished toast and tea.

 

He thinks about it for a minute, Harry’s happy personality, that is. 

 

Maybe that was why everybody liked him so much, precious Potter, because always seemed so happy, and everyone wants to be happy. Right? Draco fidgets, unsure, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted that. He knew he didn’t deserve happiness, and even if someone decided that he did, he wasn’t even sure he was capable of having happiness, something that was so  _ easy  _ yet so impossible for him. Of course, it was good, to be happy. He just didn’t want to get let down, by being unable to have something that everyone else had.

 

He glances at Harry’s easy smile, out of the corner of his eye. Maybe it was possible. 

 

“So Draco, how are you feeling about the first lesson?” Harry asks, still smiling. 

Why was he smiling? That didn’t make sense. People don’t smile at Draco. “I think it will go well, it is only the first class after all. If I’m honest I’m more worried about the dueling club.” 

 

“Really? But, that’s on Friday! We have plenty of time to prepare.” 

 

Draco nervously straightens the silverware beside his plate, “Plenty of time to worry, you mean.” he mumbles. 

 

Harry rolls his eyes, “It’ll be fine, it’s just the first meeting anyways, which means there won’t be many students and we’ll just be going over rules and the basics of dueling.” 

 

Great, less students means that they’re all going to be paying attention to him instead of each other. Draco doesn’t voice this thought aloud though, he just nods and continues to pick at his toast. 

 

He sighs and pushes his plate away; he really doesn’t like eating in front of people, but he better get used to eating in front of hundreds of people by tonight or he would end up starving. 

 

“-That’s a great idea, Minerva. What do you think Draco?” Harry says.

 

“Er- Yeah, great idea.” Draco didn’t have the slightest clue as to what they were calling a great idea because he had been zoning out so bad, so for all he knew, they could be discussing a plan to set his robes on fire during class. He really hoped that wasn’t the plan. That would probably be painful. 

 

Harry smiles, but it’s one of those, thin, forced smiles, that people do on reflex when they’re trying to be friendly, “Yeah, do you want to head down to the quidditch pitch now?” 

 

Draco tries to smile back, but it feels unnatural, it feels as if his face is trying reject the new expression after so long of not using it, “Sure.” 

 

Harry stands and Draco follows him, not looking back to his colleagues still discussing all the possibilities this year had to offer. He doesn’t look back to see Poppy’s or Pomena’s concerned glances, he doesn’t look back to see Dahlia’s distrustful eyes practically glued to the both of them, he doesn’t look back to see Minerva’s proud stare as she watches them leave over the rim of her goblet. He doesn’t see them, and he doesn’t need to. He already knew that his first few months here were not going to be easy, but he knew there was no going back now. There was no back, only forward, out of the dead end his life had been for the last few years. 

 

So he doesn’t look back, both literally and metaphorically.

 

__________________________________

  
  


If Harry felt mentally exhausted after only one day, he had no idea how he would be able to handle an entire year of this. 

 

The day before, everything had been going swimmingly, despite the less than perfect start to the day and the fact that Draco Malfoy was being infuriatingly polite and hospitable. It had been almost perfect. He had gone to the quidditch pitch with Draco, they had cleaned up the broomshed, made a map and charted out where and how their students would be flying around the pitch, and they had even prepared a few lessons at the pitch then a few more right after the sorting and feast in the great hall. It had been a good day, discounting Malfoy and the strange stillness that hung around him like mist. He was just so different, there was something abnormally different about him, something that Harry could easily see, but just couldn’t identify.  

 

Then today, the first day of teaching students, had also gone well, no matter how mentally taxing it was. They had the first years and taught them the ‘up!’ command, fairly easy. The only students who had any problems had been a few Hufflepuffs, a pair of Gryffindors, a timid Ravenclaw, and a very embarrassed Slytherin. Harry had yet to learn their names, but a few of his students definitely stuck in his head, like the fiery Hufflepuff. It had been a good first day, but he was absolutely  _ exhausted _ after it. 

 

Every student had an excited nervous energy to them and it had been especially draining just to get them all to calm down enough to introduce himself and Malfoy. Then there had been the matter of his students fully realizing who he was, putting the name to the face. It had been discouraging to watch his students reactions as he introduced himself, he had been able to see the exact moment on every single face as their entire impression of this stranger had been flipped upside down. Although if he’s honest he doesn’t know why they didn’t immediately recognise him, maybe it was because his hair now covered the scar. 

 

It had been even stranger to watch his students reactions to Malfoy though. Many didn’t even blink, or even seem to react, others recognised the name but didn’t seem to register the fact that Draco was who he was, but there were a couple of expressions that Harry didn’t think he could ever unsee. He had never thought that he would see an eleven year old wear such a look of hatred on their face, but he had that day. It was downright disturbing. 

 

Harry had pitied Draco in that moment. He had never seen the man look so… panicked, cornered, trapped, ashamed, it had looked as if he had wanted to disappear and never return. It seemed to really shake him though; for the rest of the lesson he was unnaturally jumpy and mostly avoided those students. Harry would have avoided them too, if he were Draco. If looks could kill, those glares would’ve murdered.

 

But it had been so annoying, having this strange stilted version of Malfoy teaching alongside him. This tense, high-strung, quiet, timid Malfoy that was just so wrong compared to the one he knew. Even worse, Malfoy looks the same, even sounds the same as he used to sometimes, but something had been stripped from him, something so ‘ _ Malfoy’  _ that he just wasn’t who he used to be anymore. 

 

It was beyond irritating. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to talk to him or respond to some of the things he said, it was all just so  _ wrong _ . Malfoy was supposed to be an arrogant jerk, but now that he wasn’t, he had no idea what he meant to him anymore. Draco didn’t seem like an arrogant prick, an enemy, an acquaintance, or a friend, so what the hell was he supposed to be?!

 

Harry scowls and snaps his detective novel shut, he’s not sure why he decided that he would try to read, because he’s obviously too distracted. He wasn’t even sure why he was in his chambers right now, instead of outside on the grounds. The moon was out and the skies were clear, meaning that as long as the wind didn’t pick up he could fly around the grounds for a bit and try to sort his head out. 

 

Harry taps the spine of the book on his lap and debates over whether or not he should ask Malfoy if he wants to fly around on the grounds for a bit, maybe Harry would finally be able to put a crack in that facade that he had up. He tries to imagine his response if he asked. Probably a posh ‘no’ and a snooty insult, or maybe he would just slam the door in his face, or he would just agree and then hex him once they get outside. Harry wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to do any of those things, but it couldn’t hurt to extend an olive branch to his childhood nemesis. 

 

Harry returns the book to it’s previous place, dresses in his flying gear, and grabs his broom, before heading out. 

 

He stops beside Malfoy’s door and almost knocks, but his hand hesitantly hovers over the wood for a moment as he thinks. Did he really want to invite  _ Malfoy  _ of all people to come fly the grounds with him? Harry probably needed this time to himself, completely  _ alone _ . Still, here he was, extending the olive branch. Hermione would be proud of him, although Ron probably wouldn’t be when he told the both of them about his week this saturday.  

 

He knocks anyways. 

 

His day had already been tiring and stressful, there wasn’t really much more that could happen within a few hours that could make it worse. 

 

He waits, but there’s no answer. 

 

He knocks again. 

 

No answer. 

 

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes, of course Malfoy decides to ignore him. He casts a tempus and discovers it’s way too early for him to be sleeping and concludes he must be ignoring him. 

 

So much for extending the olive branch then. 

 

He walks down the castle’s silent corridors, out of it’s looming foreboding doors, and down to the quidditch pitch. The path is winding and uneven, draped in swaths of moonlit fog, which Harry has to stop and wipe from from his glasses every so often before he just casts a spell on them. The closer he gets to the pitch, the easier it is to see a figure dipping and weaving through the air on a broom, outlined in a halo of moonlight. He squints and tries to get a better view, but the figure is moving to fast for him to see clearly. 

 

He didn’t think it could be a student out so late, none of them would be this bold on the first few days. Nonetheless, he still mounts his broom and takes off to intercept the figure out past curfew. 

 

As he draws near he notices the shock of bright blond hair and realizes that this isn’t a student, but Malfoy. Well, at least that explained why he never answered his door.

 

Malfoy must have noticed him because he stops moving and just hovers in the air, waiting for Harry to catch up. As he nears his motionless outline in the sky, Harry sees a flash of something gold and silver flit in front of his broom. On instinct, he veers harshly to the left and dives downward in a spiral, blindly swiping outward and grabbing the silver-gold snitch which had flashed in front of his eyes only a second before in one swift movement. He pulls upward and flies until he’s upside down and eye to eye with Draco. 

 

Holding out the snitch for Draco to see he grins, “Is this yours?” 

 

For the first time in the two days that Harry has seen him, Draco smiles and it’s genuine, “Potter, how is it that you always manage to catch the snitch before I do,  _ even when no one is playing _ ?” 

 

Harry turns rightside up again and laughs, “I’m just that good, and remember we’re  _ colleagues _ now, so it’s Harry to you.” 

 

“Hmmmmm, so it’s Harry? You don’t seem that hairy to me… Stinky? Yes. But, hairy? No.” 

 

“Ha ha, very funny. But you have no right to be making fun of my name when your name is literally ‘Dragon.” 

 

Draco mockingly gasps and haughtily says, “It’s a very dignified name. All the muggles absolutely adored it.”

 

“Uh huh, suuurrreeee.” 

 

“It’s true!” 

 

Harry holds the struggling snitch in his fist up, “I’ll believe you if you can catch the snitch before I do.” 

 

Draco raises an eyebrow, “You think I’m letting you win again? In your dreams professor potty!” 

 

In mock betrayal Harry gasps, “I can’t  _ believe  _ a colleague would ever say something like that to me! You’re the one who’s going to be adding to their collection of losses today!”

 

Draco wolfishly grins, “Oh yeah? Prove it!” 

 

Harry Smirks back and releases the snitch without breaking eye contact with Draco, “In three seconds. 3, 2, 1, GO!” 

 

They both rocket upwards into the sky, both blindly racing in the same direction the snitch had gone when it had been released. They both pull away from each other and begin to circle around the pitch in wide circles, hoping to see a flash of gold or silver in the light of the almost full moon. Harry begins to dip and swerve around the pitch, as if just moving in a more erratic fashion would draw the snitch towards him, but nothing happens. 

 

All of a sudden, Harry sees the shock of bright moonlit blond hair flash by him in a dive, and Harry chases after it. Before he fully realises what’s happening, Harry sees Draco twist out of the dive and rocket upward, towards the stars and pluck something silver out of the air. 

 

Harry pulls out of the dive just in time to hear Draco gleefully shout, “I win!” 

 

“What!? Are you kidding?! You were diving, but the whole time it was up there?! You tricked me!” 

 

Draco smirks, “There’s a reason I was in Slytherin you know, I’m much more cunning than you Gryffindors who are always barreling into things without a second thought.” 

 

“Oh really? You know the sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.”

 

Draco barks out a laugh, “Ha! As if… you would’ve gotten torn apart in Slytherin! You’re much too innocent to deal with us!” 

 

“It’s true!” Harry insists, “I had a whole argument with the hat and it finally decided to put me in Gryffindor.”

 

“You’re telling me that you had an argument about which house you were going to be in, with the hat?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Draco sighs and dramatically throws his hands up in the air, “Why am i not surprised? You were so stubborn that you refused to be in the house that hat thought you fit into the most, so you argued your way out of it. With the sorting hat. Unbelievable.”

 

Harry smiles, “What can I say, I can be very convincing.”

 

Draco shakes his head, “I still can’t believe this. Next you’ll be telling me that you’ve been exploring an underground village beneath Hogwarts during your time here.” 

 

Harry snorts, “Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid.” 

 

“Oh, I’m sure you could make it exciting, just being Harry Potter and all.” 

 

Draco isn’t looking at him anymore, but rather staring at the sky, holding the snitch between his thumb and forefinger, allowing it’s tiny to wings flutter. The moonlight is bright and undiluted above the fog that shrouds the grounds in darkness and it seems to outline him in a halo of silver light. If it had been anyone else besides Draco, Harry would’ve said that he looked angelic, hovering there with his bright blond hair, staring towards the heavens. But this was Draco, and somehow that seemed to change things, it seemed to make them different. It made seeing him as something that he shouldn’t seem strange and wrong, when the reality was that Harry wasn’t seeing him as anything abnormal at all. 

 

Harry was just seeing Draco as the person he had become after he had just learned that he didn’t have to be what the world wanted to be in order to be happy. Harry was seeing Draco as the person he could have been had he been raised differently. And yeah, Draco could have been anyone else other than the person he had been, had he been raised with a different background, but maybe it was the fact that he had to grow beyond his prejudice that had once made him so awful was what made him so much more different, so much  _ better _ . The fact that he had to unlearn everything that he had been taught and relearn how to be a decent human being without any help was what made him so changed. 

 

But Harry wasn’t sure what this change meant in their entire dynamic, because whatever they were doing now was so different from any interactions that they had before. Everything was new, everything was different, yet everything was the same as it always had been. Draco still smirked like he used to, he still acted all stuck up, he still looked like he used to. His hair was still bright blonde, his face was still all pointy, and his eyes were still that pale grey that seemed to cut into your very soul if you stared directly into them.

 

And suddenly Draco is looking back at him for the first time in five years since the trials, and that feeling is cutting into him. He feels exposed, he feels wrong, he feels like something entirely new is happening and he doesn’t understand it. 

 

“Er, do you want to have another seeker’s match or do you want to go back?” 

 

Harry blinks, “Wha- What?”

 

“Another seekers match? Are you up for it?” 

 

Harry finally snaps out of his stupor, “Oh! Yeah, that would be great! I’m not going to let you win again!” 

 

Draco breaks out into a rare, genuine laugh, “We’ll see about that. Although, I am curious as to how I am able to beat you when I’m so out of practice that I haven’t even  _ touched _ a broom in five years. Or are you really just that bad?” 

 

“Oi! I’m not that bad! It’s because you’re cheating!” 

 

Draco scowls, “It’s not cheating! You’re just too easy to trick!” 

 

“I am not!” 

 

Draco throws the snitch up into the air and Harry almost begins to chase after it before he realises that Draco never actually threw it. 

 

“Hey! That’s unfair!” Harry shouts indignantly above his howling laughter. 

 

“Oh Merlin! I can’t believe you actually fell for that!” 

 

Harry sighs, “I’m never going to be able to live this down, will I?”

 

Still gasping for breath Draco says, “No, never. Oh Merlin, I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in a very long time. Not since I watched a cat fall into the fountain near my old apartment.” 

 

“Alright, let’s have an actual seeker’s game now.” 

 

“Okay, but you’re still going to lose.”

 

***

From the castle Minerva watched as the two figures weaved through the air and dived, separating and meeting easily over and over again as if in a of dance. She distantly recalls her own time in which she played quidditch for Gryffindor and smiles at the memories of diving, twisting, and soaring through the skies. She remembers what it’s like to fly until the people on the ground look like ants, the thrill of playing quidditch, of winning a match.

 

She watches the two for a bit longer and wonders if she made the right decision when she chose them as her new flying instructors in Madam Hooch’s absence. Both of them had the skills required and she couldn’t find any one else who would’ve wanted to take the job after the war, so of course it had made sense. She thinks Dumbledore would have approved of her decision. They both desperately needed to get out of the place where they had been and they both had a lot that they could learn from each other. But they could only learn if they managed to agree with and understand each other. 

Minerva sighs and turns around from the window only to run into Filch who’s trailed by Mrs.Norris. 

 

“Headmistress! It’s after curfew and there’s people on the quidditch pitch flying all around! I-”

 

“Yes, Mr.Filch, I am well aware of Mr.Potter’s and Mr.Malfoy’s presence on the quidditch pitch after curfew. Although I am sure that that the two professors are merely planning a lesson.”

 

Filch’s eyes narrow and he glares out the window behind Minerva, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that headmistress, I wouldn’t put it past that Malfoy or Potter to be up to something shifty. I bet that-”

 

Minerva sternly interrupts before he can continue any further, “I’m sure that Professor Potter and Professor Malfoy are behaving just fine. I wouldn’t have hired them unless I was sure that they are both qualified to teach here. And based upon my own judgement I trust that they are both responsible and positive influences on our students. Are you saying that you don’t trust my judgement, Mr.Filch?”

 

“No, no, not at all Mistress. It’s just-” 

 

“Well then Mr.Filch, then there’s no reason to be suspicious. Move along now.”

 

Filch opens his mouth to say something, but just frowns and closes it before moving along down the corridors. 

 

Minerva sighs and looks out the window again, watching the two dip and swerve through the air, hoping that she did make the right decision. She really didn’t want to regret this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well after a month of not uploading, I'm back! My goal for this chapter was ~7,000 words so I fell short, but I do like what I wrote. Expect an update on this story within a month or so because I really enjoy writing this and I'm trying my hardest to continue writing even though I sometimes feel really drained and have no motivation at all.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight tw for scars, mentions or past tortue, and past self harm.

Draco still did not like the great hall, not one bit. 

 

He was still seated between Harry and Professor Vector, and did not enjoy feeling as if he was being watched by an entire crowd of judgemental teenaged wizards as he was eating his scrambled eggs. The other professors seemed unperturbed and were all eating and chatting alongside him amicably, not paying any attention to the throngs of students before them. Of course, this could be because they didn’t mind being watched or talked about, but it also could have been because they were all well aware that the students didn’t care about whatever their teachers were doing and were much too preoccupied with their own silly lives and conversations to give a hoot about what some old musty professor eats for breakfast. 

 

It still didn’t make Draco any more comfortable with eating his morning toast in front of an audience, though.

However, if there was one perk of sitting at the head of the room, it was how entertaining his students were, and how they acted when they thought no one was looking. Draco frowns as he raises a goblet of orange juice to his lips; that sounded a bit creepier than he thought it did in his head. Though, as creepy as it sounded, it was true. Each of his students just had their own way of surprising him that he didn’t think would ever grow old. For instance, just looking out at the Hufflepuff table he can see a third year reading a textbook of some kind even though the first week had yet to even  _ pass _ , and at the Gryffindor table he can see a fourth year student waving a fork around as she undoubtedly tells a wild tale of some sort. 

 

But then there were the other students, the ones that were still at Hogwarts when he was a student, like the sixth and seventh years that wouldn't meet his eyes or glared at him whenever they passed in the halls or when they met on the quidditch pitch. The students who had seen the things that he had done in the past and loathed him for it, the students who had undoubtedly lost family members in the war, the students who knew him as who he  _ really  _ was. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and sets his fork down. Just thinking about it made him feel sick.  

 

And everything was so much worse when he was next to Harry, because Harry was so much better than he was. Harry was the boy who lived twice, vanquisher of the dark lord, the golden boy in every sense. Students asked for his autograph, students asked him for advice, students would stare at him as he gave lessons. Harry belonged here, he was wanted here, but Draco was not. Draco was everything that the wizarding world was trying to recover from after the war, he was a ink blot on a blank piece of parchment, he was a stain on a fresh pressed shirt, he was a disease that needed to be cured. 

 

Draco was just another thing wrong in the world. He knew it and everyone else around him knew it. Minerva knew it when she hired him out of pity, then asked the golden boy to watch him and make sure he wouldn’t mess up. He wished he had never taken this job, he wished he had knew that coming back to a place that inspired such awful memories wouldn’t be the greatest of decisions, he wished he knew that he wasn’t ready for this kind of life again. 

 

Somebody taps him on the shoulder and he flinches away from the touch- five years of being a hermit hadn’t exactly improved his ‘human interaction’ department. It’s just Harry though, the only person who would even consider going near someone like Draco. “Hey, first lesson of the day is in twenty minutes, let’s go.” 

 

Dazedly Draco nods, “Right.”, then gets up to leave. 

 

***

 

Their lesson had gone well that day, or at least that was what Harry thought. He wasn’t so sure of what Malfoy thought, he had been acting really weird all day today. 

 

First at breakfast he had practically jumped out of his skin (Harry really hopes there isn’t some awful hex for that, the idea was horrifying just to think about), when Harry had tapped his shoulder, during their first class that day he had been incredibly jumpy, and during their last class today he had spent the entire time pacing. He had still been teaching and helping the students, of course, but it had been nerve wracking for everyone, including the students which were a bunch of first years who looked just about ready to wet themselves.  Harry frowns, although he wasn’t sure if it had been because of Draco’s stern teaching methods and excessive pacing, or if it had been leftover from the initial excitement of having Harry Potter as a teacher. Either way it hadn’t been their most focused class that week. 

 

In any case, Malfoy had better be over whatever problem he had before the first dueling club, or it would be a very harrowing experience for the both of them.

 

They had decided to have a one on one duel between the two professors first, just to show how to properly duel, and there were a million things that could go wrong if they made a mistake of some kind. A mistake was likely too, considering the last time Harry had dueled it had been with criminals as an Auror and he had been allowed to use restricted hexes and curses. There was no telling what could happen if he accidentally used one when he was dueling with Draco, who hadn’t even properly dueled in years.

 

He had shared his concerns with Draco, but he had simply shrugged it off and said everything would be fine. 

 

The soles of his shoes snapped against the stone floors of the castle as he hurried down to his rooms; it was really too late to change anything about today’s dueling club though. It would be starting in a few minutes and they already had everything planned. Draco would be explaining the customs and history of dueling, as well as any other important bits of information he wanted to toss in. Harry would be demonstrating the more practical aspects of dueling and introducing new spells. 

 

Harry throws open the door to his rooms and rushes to his bedroom to change into a different pair of pants, perhaps with  _ less _ grass stains on the knees. It takes him only a few moments to change, but by the time he’s finished his bedroom is littered with abandoned garments and he’s stumbling out of his rooms whilst trying to get his belt through the last loop. 

 

He casts a tempus. He’s late, to his very first dueling club meeting.

 

He curses and sprints down to where the meeting is being held. He walks in, hoping to be able to sneak behind the crowd of students and up to the front where Draco is leaning against a podium and currently talking some rubbish about  _ professional _ dueling. As if he would know.

 

All plans of a subtle entrance are thrown out the window when he hears Draco clear his throat from the front of the room, “I see professor Potter has finally decided to join us. Is the dueling club not important enough for you to attend Potter or did you just decide to mosey in at your whim?” 

 

Harry frowns and opens his mouth to reply with his own cutting remark, before he realizes that the crooked grin on Draco’s face was lighthearted and teasing, not mean and scathing. He smiles and walks to stand next to him at the head of the room, “I knew you would cover for me, Malfoy. Besides I’m sure you know much more about the history of, uh, famous duelists, right?” 

 

Draco rolls his eyes, “You can’t even name one off the top of your head. Anyways, we weren’t even talking about that, were we?” Draco gestures out to the semicircle of students gathered who all look either very confused or very smug, although Harry isn’t sure why they would be smug. 

 

Harry crosses his arms, uneasy, “Then what were you talking about?”

 

Draco grins cheekily. “Your abysmal flying skills.” 

 

Harry just heavily sighs and mutters, “You’re never going to let me forget that are you?”, before redirecting his attention to the club, “Alright today we’re going to be demonstrating the formalities of dueling and learning a few basic, but vital spells. Everyone find a partner, there should be enough for everyone, since the list we were given had an even number of students.” 

 

The students immediately descend into a cacophony of noise and movement as they all shuffle about to find a partner and Harry stands behind the podium. 

 

Draco has a smug smirk stuck to his face as he stares out at the class so Harry asks, “What are you planning?”

 

Draco startles and looks at Harry, “What do mean?”

 

“You’ve got this really weird smirk going.”

 

Draco quietly laughs, “Oh, I was just thinking of when it would be a good time to tell you that you came in with your fly down.”

 

“What?!” Harry looks down, and sure enough his fly is down. He zips it up and elbows Draco in the side, “You arse.” 

 

“What was that for?! At least I told you about it. I was planning on seeing how long it would take you to notice.” 

 

“You little shit. How did you even notice in the first place? Were you purposely looking at my crotch when I walked in?” 

 

“No!” Draco is decidedly quiet after that, at least until the students have all picked their dueling partners, then he just cleared his throat and nodded his head towards Harry.

 

It was his turn to talk, “Instead of droning on for about twenty minutes about the formalities of dueling and customs and whatnot before actually getting to any of the fun stuff, we decided that we would give a demonstration of sorts. Professor Malfoy and I will be giving an example of what to do in a duel, or if this all goes horribly wrong what not to do.” 

 

The students instantly begin to murmur amongst themselves and Draco pointedly glares at Harry, probably for the last bit about things going horribly wrong. “I don’t think anything could go  _ horribly  _ wrong. Our goal will be to  _ disarm  _ our opponent today, there will be  _ no _ stunning and  _ no _ injuries during this class. Am I clear?” Draco pins the students under his stern glare and they all meekly nod. “Good.”

 

Draco struts up to the circle they have cleared for dueling and gestures to Harry who has yet to move from behind the podium, “Now let’s begin.” 

 

Harry grins and takes his place across from him on the edge of the circle and takes out his wand, “I challenge you to a duel.”

 

Draco takes out his wand, the same one that Harry returned to him so long ago, and drawls, “I accept.” 

 

They both walk forward and stand until they are almost nose to nose, Harry can smell whatever fancy cologne he uses and it leaves him feeling lightheaded. Harry dazedly notes that Draco’s eyes are very pale, but have darker blue flecks closer to the pupil; they were piercing into him again. They both hold up their wands then lower them to their sides again, before taking a step back and bowing to each other. Draco keeps his simple, but elegant, while Harry just barely lowers his upper body, a single arm behind his back. 

 

They both walk back to their places and the instant Draco turns around to face him Harry fires a hex, aiming at the space just between his eyes. 

 

Draco’s eyes widen comically before he leaps to the side and clumsily throws a hex of his own at Harry, which he barely side-steps. Draco’s dueling skills had obviously suffered in his five year absence, and even after only a few moments into the duel it was showing.  

 

Harry doesn’t relent though. If he was going to duel, then he was going to duel. Harry casts a barrage of spells, hexes, and jinxes in flashes of red, blue, and yellow that Draco barely manages to shield himself from. Draco’s movements grow clumsier with each new hex and he begins to falter. 

 

“Colloshoo!” Draco can’t move fast enough to block Harry’s hex and almost ends up topelling forward due to momentum when he suddenly finds his shoes stuck to the floor. 

 

“Protego!” Draco bellows. A light blue haze solidifies in front of Draco and begins to absorb the impact from each of Harry’s attacks. He raises his wand again and Harry prepares to dodge whatever jinx or curse Draco will throw his way, but whatever it is he is expecting to happen is nothing close to what actually happens. 

 

“Aqua Eructo!” 

 

Before Harry can even think to use Protego or Accio a chair or something to block the onslaught, a jet of water barrels into him with the force of a dump truck and he is knocked flat onto his back. Draco doesn’t falter when Harry is thrown backwards and water continues to barrel into him with the force of a fire hose. Harry tries to stand but the pressure is too much, and he can’t think of what to do while being constantly bombarded. He just wants it to stop. Harry coughs and splutters out a choked, “Imobulus!”, and the jet of water stops and hangs motionless in the air, before crashing to the floor when Harry breaks the spell. 

 

Lightening fast, Draco is attempting to jinx him again. Harry scrambles out of the way and stands upright as Draco begins to rapid fire more and more hexes. 

 

“Accio chair!” 

 

A chair flies into Harry’s outstretched hand and he uses it to block the jets of multicoloured light flying towards him.

 

“Depulso!” The chair flies away from him and Harry is able to see the startled expression on Draco’s face about half a second before he realizes that he is about to get rammed in the chest by a mangled wooden chair traveling at very high speeds.

 

The flashes of light abruptly stop as the chair hits him square in the chest and knocks him flat onto his back, about three feet from where he had been standing before. Harry hears him groan in what he assumes is pain- probably pain, considering he just had a chair slam into him at 90 kph. 

 

“Expelliarmus!” 

 

Draco’s wand is wrenched from his hand by an unseen force. Harry wordlessly summons it to his hand before going to crouch over Draco who is lying face up, staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, all too aware of the students surrounding them. Some with concerned looks, others giggling amongst themselves, a few smirking viciously at Draco’s crumpled form.

 

Draco doesn’t look at him and growls out, “I just experienced the magical equivalent of being hit by a small car, what do you think?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

He turns his head and glares at Harry through narrowed eyes, then sits up, grimacing in pain. Draco holds his hand out and tonelessly says, “Wand.” 

 

Harry places it in his palm and stands, offering a hand to Draco. He glares at the hand and otherwise ignores it, rising on his own and facing the class. 

 

“Now that, class, would probably be a good example of what dueling club is  _ not _ about. Although there are quite a few good examples of good techniques that we could all learn from, especially regarding defense against hostile spells, hexes, and jinxes. Would anyone care to point out a good method of blocking a hex?” 

 

The entire club awkwardly shifts around or just stares at Draco for a minute before an eager hand towards the front of the crowd shoots up. Harry vaguely remembers the second year student from a flying lesson, and he thinks her name is Tina. She seems incredibly excited and she reminds him of Hermione, “I noticed that professor Potter used a chair to block some of your hexes instead of a shielding charm.” 

 

Draco nods, “Very good, ten points to Ravenclaw. The use of inanimate objects such as a chair or desk, or even a boulder if you’re outdoors, is a good way to block any spell that a Protego can’t shield you from. For example, a Protego charm can’t protect you from an unforgivable curse, but an object strong enough to withstand it can take the hit for you.” 

 

The girl is absolutely beaming over the house points, and raises her hand to ask another question, but is interrupted by a fourth year, Patrica Ridge, who looks mean enough to spit fire. “How would you know that something else can take the hit for an unforgivable for you, did you ever try it out?”, she sneers. 

 

Draco just stands there, frozen, stunned, without responding. There isn’t really any way to really respond to such a rude question from a student, it was even worse than when a student asked Harry about his sexuality. Harry considers letting Draco fend for himself, but he looks like he’s petrified; he has that awful look on his face, like he’s just been slapped. Harry can see the gears turning as he attempts to process what was just said to him; he couldn’t just say no, could he? 

 

Harry decides to remove him from his personal hell, and clears his throat to say, “I’ve watched Dumbledore use the very same technique dueling against Voldemort in the ministry atrium, so I know it works for unforgivables.” 

 

The entire class visibly flinches at the mention of Voldemort’s name, except for a few muggleborns, and goes deathly quiet. Draco doesn’t seem to react beyond flinching at the name, but he continues to stare at the floor, head hung in what Harry assumes is shame.

 

Harry glares down at the student who spoke up, who is now frowning down at her shoes, “And it is considered rude to not raise your hand when asking a question Ms.Ridge, I suggest that you learn how to if you don’t want house points taken.” Harry takes a deep breath and clasps his hands together, breaking the heavy uncomfortable silence draped over the room, “Now! A second way to defend against spells and jinxes, is to cast a counterspell, a shield, or deflect it. Who knows of another spell other than Protego?” 

 

The class is silent, until Tina’s hand shoots up in the air. Harry smiles, “Yes, Tina?” 

 

***

 

Draco feels numb. Although, it isn’t the pleasant, easy numbness of alcohol, or a sedative, it’s more of a pins and needles kind of numbness. Numb like his leg after it falls asleep, or when he lays on his arm the wrong way and wakes up with absolutely no feeling in it. It’s unsettling and quiet, silently worming it’s way into him, and Draco knows that it will hurt when it begins to leave. 

 

He’s felt this way before, many times, when he was alone. 

 

But he wasn’t alone anymore; he would have to continue working and living, he couldn’t just stop and let this feeling wash over him. He couldn’t just stop what he was doing and let it pass. 

 

The first few days of class had been going fine, students would glare at him, mutter behind his back, and actively avoid him, but this had been the first time a student had directly confronted him in front of an entire group. He watches the students all file out of the room when dueling club is finally finished and wonders how the insults would continually worsen as the year goes on. He wasn’t even debating on whether or not they would worsen, he knew they would, but he wanted to know how they would worsen.

 

There was no doubt his past had been made public, and the daily prophet has yet to publish any articles on his return, but exactly what aspect of his life would they pick apart? 

 

He absent-mindedly tugs on the end of his sleeve, and wonders what his students would do if they saw his mark. Hell, screw the students, he wonders what his colleagues and the rest of the world would think if they saw the ugly thing. 

 

Even Draco hated seeing it. He couldn’t even look at it in the mirror, and sometimes he would just put a bandage over the bloody thing so he didn’t have to see it.  

 

One of the worst things about it was that when he lived among muggles they had not a clue as to who he was and what his mark meant. Although being with muggles had been liberating in this aspect. None of the muggles would even look twice at it, beyond a glance, or to ask what the design was. He had even received a compliment and been asked where he gone to get it done. It had taken everything within him to not lose his mind right then and there on a muggle. It had been beyond strange to see someone look at it and not  _ know  _ what it meant. 

 

“Hey, you wanna go get next week’s lesson plans done, or maybe fly around the quidditch pitch for a bit?” Draco hand flies away from the end of his sleeve as if it was fire and he looks up at Harry. 

 

Harry is staring at his sleeve, more specifically, his forearm. Draco shifts uneasily and crosses his arms, wincing when he brushes his hand against his ribs, “I think I’ll just to go to my rooms.”

 

Harry is frowning at his arm now and he steps forward, “Are you okay?”, then he reaches out to touch Draco’s arm and he wrenches himself away from his touch, stumbling back, hissing in pain and clutching at his chest. 

 

“Yes, I’m fine.” 

 

Harry looks surprised and… hurt? No, maybe concerned? That didn’t make sense… “I think you should go see Poppy.” 

 

“What?”

 

“You got body slammed by a chair.”

 

“Chairs can’t body slam you, they aren’t bodies.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes, obviously irritated, “Just go see Poppy, or I’ll drag you to the infirmary myself.” 

 

Draco sighs and begins to walk towards the door, “I’m already going to be scolded by Poppy, I don’t need you to further ruin my evening.”

 

Harry nods and follows him.

 

Draco winces and grumbles, “It doesn’t even hurt that bad, and why are you following me, Potter?”

 

Harry grins and Draco wants to slap him, “I’m making sure you get to the infirmary without collapsing, we can’t just have a professor lying about in the corridors.”  

 

Draco shoots him with one of his best glares and stiffly continues to walk.

 

They walk the rest of the way without speaking, the silence only broken by Draco’s occasional curse or horribly undignified squeak of pain when he walked too fast. 

 

They reach the infirmary a within a few minutes and Draco turns to Harry, “You can leave now, I’m fine.” 

 

Harry scowls, “Just go get your chest looked at.” 

 

Draco curses under his breath and walks into the infirmary and is instantly spotted by Poppy who bustles over to meet them, “I gave it one week, and here the two of you are! Which one of you is hurt the worst?”

 

“What? Oh Draco is.” Harry says.

 

Poppy shakes her head and guides him to a cot. He flinches whenever she touches him. Draco sits down and grimaces, setting a hand over his aching ribs which felt like they were on fire. Poppy must have noticed his pained expression because she turns to Harry and sternly says, “Alright, do you want to tell me what happened?”

 

Harry suddenly becomes very interested in his ugly shoes, or the cracked tile beneath his ugly shoes, “I er- we were in duelling club.”

 

“And?”

 

“Well, we were giving a demonstration of a duel, and I was using a chair to block some hexes.” 

 

Poppy gives him a look that basically says  _ ‘What in Merlin’s name’ _ , but says “Go on.”

 

“Then I decided to depulso the chair away from me and it hit Draco in the chest.”

 

Poppy doesn’t say anything. She just stares at Harry. “You mean to tell me, that you decided to depulso a chair towards your colleague, in front of about forty children. Good heavens, what was going through your mind when you decided to do that?”

 

“I, uh, don’t really think I thought about it.”

 

“I can tell.” Poppy says drily. She sighs, then says to Draco,”Alright, I’ll need you to take off your shirt so I can check to see if you have any broken ribs. 

 

Draco feels the blood drain from his face; he was not going to take his shirt off in front of Potter. 

 

“Do I have to take my shirt off?”

 

“Do you want to live with possibly broken bones?”

 

“No.”

 

Poppy crosses her arms, “Then take your shirt off. You can ask Harry to leave if he’s making you uncomfortable.” 

 

Draco considers the proposition; Harry knew about his mark, but that didn’t change him from wanting him to not see it. Then there was the issue of the numerous amount of scars littering his body, from his time spent near snake-face and his friends for too long. Although, he couldn’t really be bothered to care right now, it was bad enough that Poppy was going to see them, so he may as well just let Harry see them too.

 

Draco sighs, “It’s fine.”, and begins to undo the buttons of his outer robes, then his casual button up shirt. 

 

He stares at the floor to avoid looking at Poppy or Harry, but it doesn’t stop him from hearing Poppy’s soft gasp when she sees the scars smattering his chest or the sharp inhalation from Harry when his arms are free from the shirt’s sleeves. Draco fights the urge to self-consciously cross his arms over his bare chest, knowing that it would hurt almost as much as taking off his shirt just did, and just places his hands on his knees, knuckles white as as he balls his hands into fists.

 

Don’t look at it.

 

He feels a tingle itch at his skin as Poppy casts a charm on him and he doesn’t look up; he doesn’t want to see the look on either of their faces right now, he doesn’t want to feel anymore ashamed about himself or humiliated than he already does.

 

Draco jumps when he hears Poppy’s voice softly muttering, “Just as I thought. You’ve got a couple broken ribs and the rest are bruised. I’m surprised that you were able to withstand so much pain, you must have a very high tolerance.”

 

Draco stares at a few stray marks on his long, gangly arms; he does have a high tolerance, he thinks bitterly.

 

“Your ribs aren’t too bad, I’ll be able to fix them up for the most part here in the infirmary, but you’ll have to have a poultice on overnight for the bruising. I would also advise you to cancel any plans that you may have out tomorrow.”

 

Poppy leaves for a moment, supposedly to retrieve the poultice, and Draco is left exposed and alone with Harry, which is extremely awkward and unpleasant to say the least. Harry is looking everywhere except at him, and Draco suddenly feels even more exposed and disgusted with himself. He must look right pathetic sitting here pitifully huddling his shirt and outer robes, his pale scars standing out on his already pale skin.

 

Harry clears his throat and stares at the cold tiled floor of the infirmary and mumbles, “I’m sorry about today.”

 

Out of nowhere a wave of exhaustion washes over Draco; he was so tired of this. “It’s fine.” 

 

Harry looks up suddenly and meets Draco’s eye, “You keep saying that, but is it really?”

 

Startled, Draco opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again when he can’t think of anything to say. Poppy returns before Draco can properly organize his thoughts and places a glass jar with a pale green paste in it on the nightstand next to the cot he’s sitting on. 

 

Poppy draws her wand, “I’m giving you a heads up right now, this next bit will hurt.” 

 

Draco nods and braces himself for the worst. 

 

Poppy begins to speak an incantation that he doesn’t recognize and the familiar burning sensation he felt earlier returns only much more intense than before. He grips the sheets on the cot in his fists and tries to avoid crying out when the pain worsens to the equivalent of a hot metal spike being driven into his chest. He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying not to remember the many other times he avoided crying out. It always ended up worse when you cried. 

 

The burning sensation soon leaves as Poppy ends the spell and he lets out the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding in until now. 

 

It definitely wasn’t even close to the worse pain he had ever experienced, but it had been the first time in five years he had been given a reminder of what real pain was and he didn’t appreciate it much. He also didn’t appreciate the reminder of who who was, or the staring, or the shame. 

 

Poppy gently touches his shoulder and says, “You can put your shirt on now.”

 

Draco opens his eyes and another wave of disgust washes over him when he sees Harry staring at his marks with pity. He swallows hard, ignoring the fact that breathing is suddenly more difficult than before, and puts his shirt on as quickly as possible, his shaking hands fumbling over the buttons. 

 

Poppy walks back to her office again with a mumbled, “I’ll be back.” and Draco puts his robes on and buttons them up to his throat. 

 

Draco stares at the rough cotton sheets under his fingers and doesn’t even look up when he hears Harry say, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

 

Did he want to talk about it? Did he really want to bring up something that happened to him five years ago? Did he really want to bring memories that he spent five years repressing to the forefront of his mind? No. He did not  _ ever  _ want to have to live through that again. He did not want to feel the fear, the hatred, shame  _ ever  _ again. 

 

“No Potter, I don’t want to talk about it.” he snarls.

 

“Just asking.” he grumbles. 

 

Poppy is walking back now with two bottles in her hand. She holds them up and begins to explain what they’re for, “This is a calming draught of my own design and it will calm your nerves without making you drowsy, and this is dreamless sleep, but I guess you know what that’s for.” 

 

She hands both bottles to Draco and he carefully puts them into the pocket of his robes. “Thank you.”  

 

She smiles and hands him his poultice, “You’re welcome. Also, don’t be afraid to come by the infirmary from time to time. It’s always nice to have guests to chat with over tea.”

 

Draco nods, “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a nice evening Poppy.” 

 

He stands and leaves, not bothering to wait for Harry and heads down to his rooms as fast as possible. 

 

He can hear him behind him, trying to catch up, “Draco, wait!” 

 

He walks faster and continues to ignore him, until he reaches his rooms. He rushes inside and slams the door behind him, locking it. When Harry finally catches up and begins to knock on his door he simply casts a silencing charm and walks to his bedroom. 

 

He dresses for bed, and applies the poultice, without even considering any lesson plans, classes, clubs, or responsibilities for a moment. He takes the bottle of dreamless sleep from the pocket of his discarded robes and takes the proper amount, allowing himself to fall into an easy slumber within moments.

 

***

 

Harry knocks one last time on Draco’s door and eventually gives up trying to talk to the ferrity git, stomping back to his own rooms to floo Ron and Hermione. 

 

He slams the door extra loud behind him, as if Draco would hear him and throws his outer robes onto his red armchair. 

 

Harry knew it was a bit late, but Ron and Hermione wouldn’t mind chatting with him, right?

 

Harry just couldn’t believe that Draco would brush him off after seeing something like that. What the hell happened to him during the war? He had to have been tortured at some point; his body  _ covered  _ in pale white and pink scars, some looking like minor cat scratches and others looking as if he had been burned. Then there was the place where his dark mark was, or still is rather. That had been something entirely different, grotesque even. It looked as if someone had attempted to get rid of the thing with a dull pocket knife, the black ink of the mark appeared faded over the layers upon layers of uneven scar tissue covering it. 

 

Draco needed to talk to someone,  _ anyone _ about that, because there was no one anyone else other than him could have done it and it was just unsettling to think that this new quiet, timid Malfoy had ever been able to do something like that to  _ himself _ . 

 

They looked pretty old though, maybe he had been able to find a muggle therapist of some kind, who convinced him to stop. Or maybe even one of the new wizarding therapists that Hermione made him go talk to. It certainly helped him, although he can’t say he enjoyed his own experience with his therapist Vanessa. 

 

He walks over to his fireplace and grabs the pot of floo powder on the mantel and firecalls Ron and Hermione. 

 

He sticks his head through the green flames and sees Ron holding a bag of crisps, “Oh hey Harry. Do you want me to get Hermione too?”

 

“Yeah, it’s a little important, and I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to firecall you guys.” 

 

Ron pops a crisp into his mouth, “Totally understand mate. It might take awhile for me to get Hermione, she’s been trying to figure out how to make the perfect biscuits for the past two hours and she’s been making a right mess in the kitchen. Honestly, Harry you should see her, she’s got whole notebooks on stirring and oven temperature… it’s like she’s trying to invent a new potion instead of making biscuits!” 

 

Harry smiles, “Well that’s Hermione for you.” 

 

“Tell me about it. I’ll go see if I can get her.”

 

Harry listens to the fire for a few minutes and hears several crashes come from the kitchen accompanied by a shout and a loud ‘thump’. 

 

A few more minutes pass and Ron and Hermione walk back into the room covered in flour, “Alright, Ron, remind me to check the oven in fifteen minutes. Hello, Harry!”

 

“Hello Hermione, sorry I told you I was calling tomorrow instead of today.”

 

Hermione purses her lips, but waves it off after a moment, “It’s fine. Well, tell me about your new job.”

 

Harry considers telling her about Draco immediately, but decides he’ll drop that bomb a few moments after they exchange inane pleasantries. So he talks about simple things like his rooms and students, what it’s like after the war, and how strange it is to be teaching people who are only five years younger than he is. Hermione and Ron talk about their own jobs and how the Weasleys are doing, and then Hermione begins to talk about her newest experiments with baking. 

 

“-anyways I’ve learned that it isn’t anything like potions. So what about you? You mentioned having an assistant who is your teaching partner but you never said who it was... so who is it?”

 

“Malfoy.”

 

Whoever it had been they were expecting, it was certainly not Draco. At all. 

 

They sat, jaws dropped for a minute or so before Ron speaks up, “Malfoy?! As in Draco Malfoy, the very same Malfoy who hasn’t been seen in five years??!” 

 

“That’s the one.”

 

Hermione seems to be having trouble choosing her words, but eventually settles on, “Why the hell did you accept to be teacher partners with Malfoy of all people?! You hate him!” 

 

Harry scratches the back of his neck, “I had no idea who I would be teaching with when I accepted the job. Minerva just sent me a letter offering the job position shortly after I was finished with working as an auror and I accepted because I had nothing better to do than sit in Grimmauld Place all day. Besides, who would’ve thought that Malfoy of people would want to teach children.” 

 

Ron shakes his head and stares at the floor, “Bloody hell, it’s got to be a nightmare to even be in the same room as him. Teaching with him must be much worse.” 

 

Harry sighs, “You’d be surprised. It’s like he’s a totally different person, he acts all timid and distant now. I remember I touched him on the shoulder once and he practically jumped out of his skin!” 

 

Hermione frowns at this, but Ron simply scoffs and says, “Probably just an act. Malfoy, timid? Please.” 

 

“Harry, did he tell you where he has been for the past five years? You said that he just went to teach at Hogwarts after no one has seen him for five years and that just seems a little strange.” 

 

“He told me he lived in muggle Leeds for five years. He worked at a library, I think.”

 

They sit in stunned silence for a few moments, before Ron exclaims, “Malfoy, living like a muggle?! No way! Hermione tell him there’s no way.”

 

Hermione is frowning and doesn’t say any such thing, instead she quietly says, “It would explain why no one has been able to find him or talk to him in the past five years. None of the owls at the ministry would ever return with a reply and no one could locate him within the wizarding world. It would also explain his strange behavior. Has he lived with anyone over the past few years, Harry?” 

 

Harry shakes his head, “I don’t think so. Of all the times we talked about the last five years, he never mentioned anyone else, or talked about any acquaintances. I was under the impression that he lived alone and never talked to anyone.”

 

Ron snorts to himself, “I don’t think anyone would willingly talk to him.” 

 

Harry liked talking with Draco, but he doesn’t say anything about that. “Why do you think he decided to start teaching at Hogwarts, or return to the wizarding world for that matter.”

 

“Maybe he did it for the same reason you did, maybe he was just bored.”, she casts a tempus charm and smacks Ron on the arm. “I told you to tell me when fifteen minutes have passed!” she leaps up and runs into the kitchen, leaving small puffs of flour behind her. 

 

An alarm of some kind begins to beep loudly and Ron sighs, “Listen mate, call us again tomorrow, or better yet floo us and we can talk some more. I think Hermione is going to need some help.” 

 

Harry agrees with Ron, and judging from the smoke drifting out of the kitchen, he thinks Hermione is going to need a lot of help. “Bye Ron, tell Hermione I said goodbye, too.”

 

Harry isn’t sure if Ron even heard him while he was running off, but he sighs and closes the connection anyways. 

 

He stands and walks to the homely stovetop in his cramped kitchen and puts the kettle on. Harry was glad that he had been able to talk with Ron and Hermione today, but he still hadn’t been able to talk more with them about the looming issue that was Draco Malfoy. 

 

It had only been a week and he was already off to a rocky start with his coworker, although it could be worse considering their pasts. Draco was also very touchy, not as in physical touch, as in at the most inconvenient times he would just go off for seemingly no reason, or start to isolate himself. Even after only a week, Harry had learned that it was almost impossible to predict how his mood would change throughout the day, or how he would respond to certain things that Harry does and says.

 

Harry grabs a cup and his favorite blend of chamomile tea; he definitely needed to calm down after today. 

 

Harry allows his tea to steep and settles down on his favorite armchair, feeling uncertain about everything, especially the future. Although, if he was certain about one thing, it was that Draco was going to be impossible to work with over the next few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write dialogue faster than I thought! If you like this chapter leave me a comment or kudos, or if you're feeling especially brave shoot me an ask on Tumblr! Also, are you wondering where I got that super cheesy title from? Well, the first time I listened to "Written in The Scars" by Galantis I misheard it as "written in the stars" and as a result I now have the cheesiest title for a work on Ao3.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have noticed I changed the title from "Written in the Stars" to "Written in the Scars", make of that what you will and enjoy! 
> 
> (Little warning, towards the end the grammar will get progressively worse as I rushed to finish)

Harry wasn’t surprised, but he was still disappointed.

 

Today’s edition of the daily prophet had been rather… controversial, to say the least. Harry had been in the kitchens, enjoying some tea with the house elves before he would head out to Hogsmeade with his students when today’s edition had been delivered with a letter from Ron and Hermione by one of the school’s owls. Harry didn’t even have a subscription to the daily prophet since he despised them so much, so he had been a bit confused at first. At least until he saw the headline, then he knew exactly why he had been sent a copy of today’s paper and a letter from Hermione. 

 

_ “Destroyer of the Dark Lord dating a DEATHEATER?!” _

 

Dread pools in the pit of his stomach, but he continues to read past the Headline and isn’t surprised to find the author is Kevin Gissip, a scumbag of a reporter who had learned from the worst of the worst, Rita Skeeter. He was a particularly nasty man who would do anything to sell his articles and books, especially sell the personal lives of celebrities for a quick galleon, and he seemed to make it his personal goal to unearth every last detail of Harry’s personal life. Or, as this particular headline proved, make up “a few” details to either sell more copies or slowly drive Harry insane. 

 

Below the headline and author is the article itself, which makes Harry feels queasy just skimming over. To the side is a picture of him and Draco sitting on the quidditch stands together, which was taken a few weeks ago when they were helping Rudy coach the Slytherin team. In the photo he leans in close to Draco’s ear and says something, probably some tip they could give to the captain later, but the quality of the photo is so bad that to anyone else looking the two of them could have just as easily been kissing. 

 

Harry sits stunned, his banana nut muffin and cup of coffee forgotten, as he stares at the photo. The two of them really did look like a couple. The way that his body was angled and leaning towards Draco, the way Draco was mirroring his posture in the photo and leaning into him. It looked like they weren’t even paying attention to the practice at all. His eyes are glued to the seven second loop of him leaning forward to whisper something in Draco’s ear, of Draco then leaning back and smiling at him which is still somehow discernable in the bad quality. 

 

Did Draco smile at him like that all the time?

 

He shakes his head, almost as if he was trying to shake away his silly thoughts then looks to the letter from Hermione, which appears to be one of the modified versions of a howler she created. The only difference between the two was that this version was less like leaving an angry voicemail and more like leaving a regular one. This still doesn’t reassure him; he still feels apprehensive to the possibility of it being a regular howler and the chance he’s about to get the scolding of his life. 

 

He decides not to open a possible howler in the kitchens, so he bids his farewells to the house elves, turning down the offer of mince pies and sandwiches, and makes his way back to his rooms. As he’s walking he can practically feel the eyes of his students and colleagues glued to him, giving him strange looks, gossiping with their friends about him, and glancing at him when they think he isn’t looking. 

 

Uneasy, Harry walks a little faster, trying to escape the judgemental glares of his students and peers, which really shouldn’t affect him as much as they do, but they still do after five years. Some things just don’t change. 

 

His palms are sweating and he grips the letter in his hand a little tighter, not noticing if the edges crumple and bend, just trying his hardest to get to his rooms without being stopped or asked about his nonexistent relationship with his colleague. His eyes are on the ground, the collar of his shirt feels too tight, the halls are silent, he is silent, yet all he wants is to scream at the top of his lungs at how  _ unfair _ it all was. How unfair could this become!? He had come back for a second chance yet had been knocked back years in progress, he had been sent back to where he was right after the war; his face constantly on the front page, unable to show his face without being harassed.

 

Then he is quite literally knocked back, physically knocked back, as he runs into the very person he would trying to avoid in the months to come.

 

“Sorr- Oh! Well, Hello Potter.” The hand that Draco had set on his arm to steady him when they collided is withdrawn almost as quickly as it had reached up, and he takes a step back. 

 

Harry straightens, “Uh, Hello Malfoy.” If anyone had told him a few months ago that ‘Malfoy’ would feel strange to say instead of ‘Draco’ he would’ve told them they were mad.

 

Draco adjusts the ends of his sleeves and crosses his arms; he’s practically radiating hostility. “I assume you have seen today’s edition of the Daily Prophet? Well, I think we need to discuss the contents of the most recent front page and just what exactly you told that reporter.” He practically spits out the word ‘reporter’ as if it were poison on his tongue. 

 

Harry bristles, “I haven’t told any reporter anything!” 

 

Draco scowls and harshly whispers, “Don’t speak so loud! Not all of us live for attention like you do!”

 

“Live for attention? Me?! I’ve been hiding in Grimmauld place for years trying to avoid stuff like this and here you come along stirring it up again!” Harry clutches his letter tightly and rushes off to his rooms.

 

Draco’s hurried, uneven footsteps snap against the stone floor as he follows, “Where do you think you’re going Potter?! We’re not done here yet!” 

 

“My rooms! If you’d rather we didn’t scream in the halls, perhaps behind closed doors would be better!”

 

Draco scoffs, “Who knew Potter could grow a brain and develop some common sense? I certainly didn’t...”

 

Harry briefly swirls around to face him, “Shut up Malfoy!” 

 

Draco mutters to himself, undoubtedly insulting Harry under his breath, and doesn’t stop until they reach Harry’s rooms and the door is safely shut behind them. Yet for some unknown reason he doesn’t say anything, he just stands ramrod straight, almost as if he had a large stick up his arse, and glares at Harry with his jaw set, arms crossed. 

 

Harry tosses the thrice-damned copy of the daily prophet and letter from Hermione down onto the coffee table and meets Draco’s glare, a look that would kill if glares were curses. “Well? What is it you have to say to me other than the obvious, because there is really much else to say about this really!” Harry throws himself down onto his armchair and takes his glasses off to rub at his temples, where a headache was already beginning to form, “I’ve had to deal with many other things like this in the past. Making them retract their statement won’t help, releasing your own statement won’t help, ignoring it doesn’t help, acknowledging it doesn’t help! There isn’t a damned thing I can do to fix this!”

 

Harry’s voice sounds raw and wrought with emotion, even to his own ears, but it seems to have no effect on Draco, other than perhaps making him angrier. He stands, hands now clenched into fists at his sides, trembling. His entire face is red and blotchy, he stares at Harry pure malice emanating from his features, radiating tension like a rubber band stretched to its limit and any second he will snap or come unhinged. 

 

Draco doesn’t say a word for a few moments longer as Harry tries to even his breathing, but eventually his fists stop trembling and he begins to speak in a low even tone, just barely above a growl, “Potter, I don’t care what you’ve had to deal with in the past. I don’t care that you think whatever you do won’t help, but you have better find a way to get me  _ out  _ of the Daily Prophet or so help me-”

 

It’s at this moment that the letter that Hermione sent flies upwards into the air to hover above Harry’s coffee table. Draco’s eyes widen and he takes a step back; he clearly recognizes that it’s howler, or rather it’s similar to one since it’s Hermione’s modified version. 

 

Dread creeps it’s way up Harry’s spine, because he knows what Hermione is like, what assumptions she may have made just from reading the article, the impression she may have after Harry had visited her and Ron to talk about his coworker time and time again. He watches as the letter trembles and prepares to say it’s peice, it’s at this point that something sinks in the pit of his stomach and he realizes something is about to go very wrong, that after this moment everything will change and there will be no reversing what is about to happen at this very moment. 

 

Yet he doesn’t move, he is frozen, petrified by some greater force as he watches the letter open, as he is completely and utterly powerless to stop it. It’s too late.

 

“ _ Harry James Potter! Why didn’t you tell us about you and Draco! I thought that you would have trusted us enough to tell us about him by now. You know that we didn’t say a thing to the papers before, so why didn’t you tell us? Was it because it’s Malfoy? You know that it would take us some time to get used to him, but I’m sure that if you really love him we could learn to-” _

 

“ _ Incendio!”  _ Hermione’s indignant voice is cut off by Harry barking out the spell, the letter bursting into violent red flames, the remnants of paper and ash sinking to the floor. 

 

Harry doesn’t look at Draco; he doesn’t think he can. Instead he stoops forward and holds his head in his hands, stares at his weathered boots and the cheap carpet. His wand feels hot in his hands. Draco doesn’t say anything, he may as well not been there at all if it hadn’t been for the tense energy in the room; something between them unknown and unexplored being stretched to its very limits. Whatever this thing was, as new and unsteady as a newborn foal, it collapsed in on itself the moment Draco slammed the door behind him on his way out without a word, without a confirmation, without a finalisation to the unsteady teetering state of their current relationship. 

 

Harry stared at the copy of the daily prophet on the coffee table, the picture of him and Draco. The way that his body was angled and leaning towards Draco, the way Draco was mirroring his posture in the photo and leaning into him. The way it looked like they weren’t even paying attention to the practice at all.

 

He incendioed that too.

 

***

 

Draco is lost, lost, lost. 

 

Draco doesn’t know what to do, he’s unstable, he feels like a maniac, a caged animal. 

 

Pacing, pacing, pacing.

 

Everything was ruined, everything had been upturned, destroyed. Everything had finally been going his way, his coworkers had begun to like him, his students were beginning to respect him, he had thought he finally had a friend, he had thought he finally had  _ Harry  _ as a friend. 

 

But it was gone now, the very person who had begun to build his life up again had tore it all down in one fell swoop, and it fucking  _ hurt _ . He didn’t know what to do, there was no one to turn to, he couldn’t just leave Hogwarts, he couldn’t do anything, he was trapped.

 

Pacing, pacing, pacing; he was trapped. He was trapped in this place, this cycle, this manic energy. He didn’t even feel as angry before, he was just going insane.

 

His rooms felt too small, he felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He felt like a giant, tottering clumsily, his limbs far to heavy and uncoordinated, his head stuck in the clouds and he can’t see the ground.

 

He’s not sure what makes him think it’s a good idea to be anywhere else other than here while he’s in such a state, but he grabs his keys from the bowl beside the door and his coat, then leaves. He’s walking, walking, walking, and everything seems muted; his mind only seems to work on the problem before him, the problem he could not escape, the problem that will consume him. 

 

Harry. 

 

Draco had been doing everything right, he had been doing so  _ well _ being around his students without losing it all, without opening old wounds, without spacing out. He had felt like a version of himself that he could be comfortable with, not necessarily his old self, the one who had caused him so much pain, but maybe something new. This new version of himself he had slowly begun to embrace, one that could forgive past mistakes and let go of old blunders, had been destroyed the second he saw the paper this morning. Maybe not instantly, a single strand of hope kept him connected for a moment longer, as he watched his coworkers and students ignore the paper for a few seconds and continue with breakfast. 

 

Then the first few started to stare, others whispered and pointed at the head table, chatter grew hushed then swelled as more and more students heard of the gossip. The worst of it all had to be his coworkers; he was close enough to see their individual reactions to the false news, and it absolutely ripped him to shreds. 

 

Pomena had picked up the paper first, a piece of toast in hand. Draco could identify the exact moment she saw the headline because her eyebrows shot up and the piece of toast was set down as she began to read the article. Poppy had simply stared at the headline and scoffed, without even reading the article or looking at the photo. Hagrid had a deep set frown as he stared at the paper, which seemed small in his enormous hands; it almost seemed as if he was attempting to decipher the meaning of each individual letter and word as he attempted to read, which was stupid because Draco now knew that Hagrid was a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit for.

 

After he finished, Hagrid looked up to meet Draco’s eyes and for a moment he was afraid that the half-giant would make a scene or begin yelling at him, but instead Hagrid looked away and pulled out a blank paper from his coat pocket. He began to scribble down something with a piece of charcoal and then shove it back into his coat with one final confused frown in Draco’s direction. 

 

Dahlia had to have had the worse reaction out of all his coworkers though, including the fight he just had with Harry. She had disliked Draco the second she had set eyes on him, and everytime the two talked she always spoke differently, as if she was speaking to a small, ugly little bug, a house elf, or a particularly stupid child. Yet Draco stilled attempted to exchange pleasantries with her from time to time, maybe as a small peace offering of sorts, but she always struck it down.

 

However, Dahlia’s reaction to the whole thing was positively sickening. 

 

At first she frowned when she saw the headline, then an unsettling smile formed as she continued to the article, which only began to widen in a ghastly sort of way to reveal her slightly lipstick-stained teeth.

 

She laughed, at first it was a small giggle, then it grew until she was cackling and snickering to herself. She looked straight at Draco and said, “I knew Harry was of the queer sort, but I never knew he was into  _ your _ type.” 

 

The other professors ignored her, except for Minerva. Minerva glared down her spectacles at Dahlia and cleared her throat, causing Dahlia to jump and turn away from Draco.

 

But the damage was done, and Draco was fuming, he was enraged. This was all Harry’s fault; Harry hadn’t had enough attention already with going back to Hogwarts and had to drag Draco into the media shitstorm that was going to follow this publication. 

 

He had risen from the table, whispers following him down the halls as he stormed down to Harry’s rooms, only to have no reply when he knocked, then he met the bastard in the halls on the way back to the great hall. 

 

And the rest he wished he could forget. 

 

The letter. 

 

He had no idea, what that could have meant. Draco had attempted to deconstruct the thing in his head, tried to figure out exactly what Harry told his little Gryffindor friends, what Harry had been telling everyone else, what he thought of Draco. That was another thing he didn’t understand; why Harry reacted so violently to the letter. 

 

If Harry had told his little friends and the reporters that the two of them were dating, then he wouldn’t have been trying to hide that he told them from Draco. He also would have reacted a lot less to everything else.

 

Harry had burned the thing, no  _ blasted  _ it out of the air before it could even finish delivering its message. There must have been something horrifying on there for him to react in such a way, something deep, personal, embarrassing. 

 

But  _ what _ ? 

 

There wasn’t anything overly embarrassing that Draco could think of that would make him burn the thing out of the air. There was nothing related to Draco that Harry would hide from him, unless he felt embarrassed about the whole thing, because Draco was a guy. But again, that makes no sense- to be so embarrassed.

 

Draco quickens his pace and tries to think, but he can’t. His mind is on fire, his body feels like it isn’t within his control, he is walking- he is walking to an unknown destination. But to what end? Does it matter where he is going when he cannot escape the inevitability of his own problems consuming him? 

 

He walks, he walks, and he stops.

 

He has found himself before the infirmary, and he does not know why. Why is here of all places? Why has he stopped here when he knows no one can help him? He does not know why he has stopped, but his legs feel like they’re made of lead; they feel heavy, they feel immovable. 

 

He stares at the archway above the infirmary, the worn stones, the endless grey, and dimly recalls Poppy’s offer from what seems like forever ago, the offer of company, of an open ear to listen to what he has to say. He wish he knew why she offered; it simply didn’t make sense for someone to speak to Draco unless they wanted something. 

 

Draco shakes his head to himself and walks into the infirmary, under the arch; he was already at his lowest, he had no right to reject any compassion he could get.

 

The infirmary is empty, hauntingly so. Pale faded curtains barely move in the still air, white sheets are neatly fitted onto cots which lie in the two long lines sideled against the walls, and the air almost seems stale. Draco stops and stands stock still as he takes in the unending empty room, the empty air, the endless ceiling, the sterile, impersonal atmosphere of the infirmary. No sound seemed to echo off the stone floors and walls- it was strangely comforting, to be so empty. 

 

It felt as if his world had slowed to a halt for just a moment, a moment in which he hung like a raindrop in the air, a moment just before the inevitable fall to earth. 

 

He moves again, his shoes are too loud against the tiles, and he sits on one of the cots, the old springs are loud and they creak under his weight. He sits in the silence and waits- he’s not entirely sure what for. Maybe he is waiting for Poppy, maybe he is waiting for this stillness to shatter, maybe he is waiting for his problems to manifest a sense of self and resolve their own differences without his involvement. Draco does not know, but for a moment he has silence in both his head and in the world, as well as the miraculous ability to ignore his problems without immediately facing consequence.

 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the stale air, runs his fingers along the subtle floral patterns sewn into the scratchy white sheets, and tries to reconnect with his sense of self.

 

He sits, he does not move, does not open his eyes. He is a statue of flesh and bone, a monument to his state of mind to which he frets constantly, silent and unmoving. 

 

Sharp footsteps snap him away from his reprieve, he’s falling back to earth, and he jolts back into the reality of his situation, why exactly he is in the infirmary in the first place. 

 

“Draco?”

 

Draco opens his eyes and turns to see Poppy standing under the stone arch looking a bit cautious, almost as if she was afraid of scaring him off. He just stares at her for a moment, forgetting it’s generally good manners to respond to someone if they speak to you, “What?”

 

She moves forward slowly, as if she was approaching a young fawn she didn’t want to frighten away, “What exactly are you doing here?”

 

For a moment he doesn’t answer he simply stares straight ahead out of one of the enormous arching windows that line the wall of the infirmary at the brewing storm and sighs. He didn’t really know of anything he could tell her that she didn’t already know. 

 

Poppy crosses her arms, “I take it you’re not here because you’re sick, no?” 

 

“No, but…” Draco trails off; he felt sick, but it would be rather silly to say he felt that way about Potter.

 

Poppy was having none of his moping today it seemed, “But what?” 

 

“I guess I just wanted to talk.”

 

Almost instantly, Poppy’s slightly defensive stance melts away and she softly says, “Oh, I see. I assume you wanted to talk about what was in the Daily Prophet?”

 

Draco doesn’t know why the tone of her question makes him feel unreasonably angry, but it does. For a moment his stomach twists unpleasantly and his throat tightens; he actually feels physically sick from the anger and petty betrayal.

 

Draco swallows the feeling back and simply says, “Yes.” 

 

Poppy nods, “I figured that was why you were here, that or you got into another fight with Harry.”

 

Draco tenses, and clenches his jaw but doesn’t say anything.

 

She takes a few steps forward and gestures for Draco to follow, “Let’s talk in my office, it might be a bit more appropriate for this type of conversation.”

 

Draco nods and stands up to follow, Poppy leads him back to a door he’s never noticed in the infirmary before which leads to a passageway with a few more doors. 

 

They stop at the first door and Poppy pauses to say, “This is my office, but those other doors lead to my chambers. I guess whoever was building the castle thought it best to have the physician as close to their patients as possible.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Poppy smiles and unlocks the door with a quick charm before gesturing to a chair in front of a simple maplewood desk, “Just sit down right there, I’ll be back with some tea in a moment.”

 

Without pause, she turns around and bustles down the hallway leaving Draco alone in her office. 

 

As he listens to Poppy’s retreating footsteps he takes the time to look around the room, feeling a bit uncomfortable as he does so. There’s not too much on the walls, a few photos of Poppy with the Hogwarts staff all smiling and waving at the camera, one of her laughing with a woman he doesn’t recognize, and an old painting of a young man with unruly blond hair and piercing blue eyes who grins and waves when he catches Draco’s eye. Uncertain, he waves back and glances around at the rest of the room which is occupied by far with more belongings than the walls. 

 

Shelves overflowing with books, scrolls, herbs, and odd trinkets and knick-knacks line the edges of the room without the presence of a door, paintings, or photos. Her desk seemed to have more similarities to the walls in the sense that it was bare when compared to the rest of the office. Aside from a few framed photos, some parchment, and an ink quill, the desk’s surface was empty. 

 

However, the thing that astounds Draco about the most about Poppy’s office is despite the towering shelves filled with things, the orderly piles of books lining the walls where they wouldn’t fit onto the shelves, and the abundance of knick knacks and notes, was it didn’t seem messy. Everything seemed to have a place somewhere within the towers of things, whether it be beside the herbology books, or beneath a bag of animal bones. 

 

It was just a bit like Harry’s rooms.

 

“Well! I hope you like herbal tea, because I’m all out of the good stuff.” 

 

Draco is snapped out of his inner musings when Poppy comes back into the room carefully levitating a teatray with a kettle, two cups, and a tin of biscuits on it. 

 

“It’s alright. I’m sure I could use a good calming drink right now anyways.” Draco says.

 

Poppy laughs and sets the teatray down on her desk and takes a seat behind it, “Well, if you wanted a  _ good  _ calming drink, you would have to go to Hogsmeade. Weren’t you supposed to go to Hogsmeade today with Harry?” 

 

Draco smiles thinly and watches as she pours him a cup which he gladly accepts as she passes it back to him. He sets it down and pauses before answering, “Yes, but then…” and trails off, looking at a picture of the man with curly blond hair on her desk.

 

Poppy frowns, “...But then, the morning paper came.”

 

Draco pushes down the horrible feeling rising up in his chest, “Yes.”

 

Poppy finishes pouring her cup of tea and sets the kettle down onto the tray gently, “That’s what you are here to talk about I assume?”

 

Draco nods and stares at the patterns in the desk’s wood grain, “Yes.”

 

“I see.”

 

Draco looks up to find Poppy staring straight at him, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

She says, “So you wanted to talk because you were…”

 

“Angry.”

 

“And?”

 

Draco pauses for a minute, then asks, “What do you mean?”

 

Poppy smiles and casts a cooling charm on her tea (Draco wrinkles his nose; cooling charms ruin tea). “Well Draco, I’m not one of those muggle psychologists I’ve been reading about lately, or even a mind healer, but I don’t think you would be sitting here in my office right now if you were just angry.”

 

“I’m not, it’s just…”

 

Draco trails off and Poppy sips at her tea and motions for him to continue.

 

“It’s just that I felt so… betrayed by it all.” At the end Draco’s voice adopts a venomous tone, filled with bitterness and disappointment, making his tone almost more telling than what he said.

 

Poppy frowns and sets her cup down, “What do you mean? You don’t mean that the two of you were actually-”

 

“No! No, no, no, that’s not it at all! We are NOT together.” Draco can feel the blood rushing to his face and takes a sip of scalding hot tea to mask his sudden flustered state. “I just can’t get over the fact that he sold a story of us to the daily prophet just to get even more attention! Can you believe how childish that is?! Why can’t he just get it in his head that the war is over, why can’t anyone get that in their head?! Why does everyone insist on holding onto to old grudges, open wounds, and unhappiness?!”

 

When he’s done he cautiously sips more of his still burning tea and waits for Poppy to say something. When she finally does Draco is surprised to hear her laugh. “Draco, I believe you’re a bit of a hypocrite.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s just that it seems as if you are holding onto a lot of what you believed about Harry before the war. As far as I know, Harry despises reporters and newspapers, the Daily Prophet especially. Harry also has the same mindset about the war you do, I believe. Harry and I haven’t had too many one on one conversations, but I’ve gotten that impression over the last five years of his scramble to retain some sort of privacy in his life.” Poppy sighs and leans back in her chair, “Oh, you should have been there for that. The papers had an absolute field day, calling him a recluse, a hermit, and making his greatest supporters and fans despise him for seemingly not caring about them or the war. It got to the point where he wouldn’t leave his house.”

 

Draco sat there, still not quite processing the information, before asking, “When was all of this happening?”

 

Poppy sighs and attempts to recount when exactly it happened. “I think a little less than a year ago.

 

Draco suddenly feels like a huge idiot. “Oh.”

 

“Yes, ‘oh’ is right. You’ve missed quite a lot Draco.” 

 

He sips his tea, which is cool enough to drink now without burning himself, “I imagine I have.”

 

***

 

Harry has no idea what he is supposed to do about this whole situation. 

 

He’s still sitting in his chair staring at the pile of ash on the floor, still replaying what he said, the way Draco had looked at him. He had been doing so well here at Hogwarts, the students didn’t hate him, the reporters weren’t harassing him, and he had finally managed to make peace with Draco- maybe even become his friend, but all of his progress had been destroyed the moment that the Daily Prophet had published that article. 

 

The worst part was there was no way for him to fix this. There was no back up plan, no blackmail,  _ nothing  _ he could do to fix this. The only thing he could do is sit here and wallow in his own pity. 

 

He cast a quick tempus charm and realized he had two hours before he would have to chaperone his students to Hogsmeade, which would undoubtedly be a disaster, and decided two hours is enough time to firecall Hermione and tell her just how bad her assumption was. 

 

Just before he can reach the floo powder a loud thundering knock comes from his door. 

 

Harry scowls and sighs, then goes to open the door, surprised when he sees who it is. 

 

“Oh! Hello Hagrid, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

 

Hagrid sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “Ah, well… neither did I.”

 

Harry sighs and lets him in, “Are you here about this morning’s paper?”

 

“Er, yeh, I am, I s’pose.” 

 

For a moment Harry feels very angry, but he suppresses it and gestures towards his couch instead, “Why don’t you sit down? I can explain everything.”

 

Hagrid nods and sits down and Harry returns to where he was earlier in his chair. He’s trying to think of something to say when Hagrid speaks up, “So how’s Horus?”

 

Horus was the owl that Hagrid had given Harry after the war. It was a badly injured barn owl he had found that he had eventually nursed back to health. Hagrid had insisted Harry take the owl because it couldn’t be returned to the wild after being around humans so long and he knew he needed an owl. At first he had refused to take Horus in insisting that no owl could replace Hedwig, but Harry had eventually warmed up to Horus.

 

“He’s doing well. I don’t like keeping him in the owlery with the other owls, you know how he can get all territorial, but I think it’s better than arguing with Minerva over keeping him in the castle.”

 

Hagrid laughs a little. “Yeh, Horus is a little fighter ‘ain’t he?”

 

Harry nods and thinly smiles. “Yes he is. I assume you wanted to know about the papers? Well I just want to say that I am  _ not _ dating Draco, at all, so no need to worry about that.”

 

Hagrid frowns, “Oh, well, I-”

 

Harry interrupts him, “It’s just the Daily Prophet spouting it’s nonsense again, trying to sell more copies and whatnot, but I can assure you that I am absolutely not romantically involved with Draco in any way.”

 

Hagrid is still frowning, but he shakes his head a little and smiles at Harry again, “If ya say so ‘Arry.” He stands up and walks towards the door. “Well, it’s er, been nice talkin’ to ya. Here are some owl treats for Horus.” He takes a small bag of treats out of an enormous pocket in his coat and tosses it to Harry as he goes. 

 

Harry sits in the chair a little longer still attempting to figure out what that entire encounter was supposed to mean. He rubs at his temples and stands up again to get some floo powder, thankfully uninterrupted this time.

 

Harry takes a deep breath and throws the floo powder in the fire and makes the call. 

 

It was the weekend, but that didn’t necessarily mean she would be home, or able to answer, yet he tried anyways. 

 

He stuck his head through the green flames, which he had always thought smelled terrible, and saw Ron sitting on the couch squinting at a mobile phone. 

 

“Ron!” 

 

Ron startled and yelped indignantly, “Who’s there!”

 

Harry sighed, “It’s me, Ron.”

 

Ron puts his hand on his chest, “Blimey! You almost scared me to death!”

 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Is Hermione there?”

 

Ron shakes his head, “No, she had some sort of urgent ministry business to attend to, so she left me here to figure out this mobile phone.”

 

Ron frowns at it and taps a button with his wand, then frowns again when nothing happens.

 

“Right… Did you see the Daily Prophet, per chance?”

 

Ron sighs and throws the phone down onto the opposite end of the couch. “That rag? Yeah, I saw it all right. I can’t believe ‘Mione actually fell for it. The odds of you and Malfoy getting together are zero to none, and I tried to tell her that, but she just ignored me and started talking about how you have obviously been pining for him forever or something. Oh, did you get the letter she sent? I heard her making it and it must have been right strange to listen to.”

 

Harry fights the urge to scream at Ron that the letter had quite possibly made any form of friendship between him and Draco impossible, but refrains. “Yeah. Draco was in the room when it opened.” 

 

Ron stares at Harry then bursts out laughing, “Really?! He was in the room?! Oh Merlin, you have got to describe the look that was on his face!” Ron stops laughing when he sees Harry’s expression.

 

“It wasn’t very funny to say the least. Neither of us heard the entire thing because I incendioed it before it finished delivering Hermione’s message.”

 

“So it was really that bad?”

 

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure that if this entire business with the Daily Prophet didn’t ruin my teaching career with Draco, then the letter might have because now he is under the assumption I told the two of you I was in a relationship with him, or something similar.”

 

“Er- Harry, didn’t you want to be in a relationship with him?”

 

Harry stares at him with his mouth agape for a few moments before practically shouting, “No I don’t, he’s- he’s  _ Draco  _ for Merlin’s sake! Why would I want to be in a relationship with him?! What would even make you think that?!”

 

Ron seems to be struggling for an answer, “Well, uh you don’t call him Malfoy anymore, and whenever you call he’s all you seem to talk about with Hermione and me. It’s always ‘Draco did this’, ‘Draco did that’, or ‘I’m worried about Draco’.”

 

“No it’s not! And if I do talk about Draco, it’s because he’s my colleague and nothing else!”

 

Ron stares at him and sighs, “If you say so Harry.” He takes out a pocket watch and glances at it before saying, “Well it’s almost opening time for the shop, so I’ll have to go. I’ll make sure to tell Hermione everything.” 

 

Harry says, “Bye, Ron.” and closes the connection.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone for so long, but school is horrible. Expect sporadic updates until I can figure out how to juggle writing this, two other personal stories, essays for school, and drawing every day. Well if you enjoyed this make sure to leave kudos or a comment at the end! Watch out for an update... eventually. I haven't abandoned this yet, so I'll continue to write until it's done hopefully.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for continuing to read this... it's certainly been a while. 
> 
> This part, and more parts in the future, will be a lot shorter. Most of the time my goal is to post chapters that are 6,000-7,000 words long, but after staring at a word doc for more than three months simply being overwhelmed with writing anything that long, I have decided to write chapters that are only between 3,000-4,000 words long. This way I may not burnout like last time and maybe even update more often. I hope most of you guys managed to stick around this long! 
> 
> So, without further ado, here is the chapter you should have had four months ago:

“Now who here can tell me why it’s important to never do a barrel roll without holding their broom with both hands at high speeds?” 

 

Draco knows the answer is obvious, but at this point he’s just stalling hoping Potter will finally show up to teach his class. Harry had been doing this for a while now, showing up late, late, and later. At first Draco thought it was to just avoid him before the students arrived, although now it seemed he was also attempting to avoid the students too.

 

Draco could more than understand that sentiment. Now instead of just glaring and snickering at Draco behind his back, his students also loved to laugh at him whenever he so much as looked at Potter. Draco couldn’t even share a word with him without hearing his students erupt into a fit of whispers and giggles. 

 

One of his students finally takes the liberty to answer his question by blurting out, “Cause if you take your hands off your rod, you’ll fall off like a sod!” 

 

The fourth years all burst out laughing and even Draco can’t hold back a small smile. “Well Kath, that isn’t how I would have worded it, but you’re not wrong.” 

 

Kath grins at him wolfishly then says, “As much fun as it is listening to you stall for your boyfriend, where’s professor Potter?” 

 

The giggles and hushed laughter begin again and just for a moment, Draco feels horribly small under the blatant assumptions and mocking voices of his students. 

 

His smile slides off his face and he straightens his posture, hoping to look more imposing. “I’m not sure where my  _ colleague  _ is, but if he doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to begin the lesson without his insufferable self.” He pauses and coldy says, “Although I’m not so sure you would enjoy a lesson from me without Professor Potter here to lighten the mood.” he then pointedly glares at the crowd of fourth years around him, especially Kath who seems to shrink under his gaze, and then begins the lesson he and Harry were supposed to be teaching together as if nothing is wrong. 

 

The lesson begins as it always does, boring and tedious for both him and the students, but as he finishes the introduction and continues to the part of the lesson Harry usually does, Draco finds himself actually enjoying it. Today’s lesson was on how to avoid bludgers or other projectiles and threats when flying, which was something he thought to be rather dull, but as he gets into the history and development of the maneuvers they would be learning, it all becomes just a little bit easier to enjoy.

 

Draco is in the middle of passionately explaining how professional seekers use the Bartly technique to evade bludgers when Harry finally decides teaching must be worth his time and waltzes down to pitch.

 

He smiles to the class and gives Draco a curt nod, “Hello class, Professor Malfoy.”

 

Draco winces at the mention of his last name, but ignores the horrible feeling lodged somewhere in the back of his throat, and drawls, “Hello Professor Potter, it seems you’re getting later and later every day. If you keep showing up just before the lesson ends, I’ll have to give you detention.”

 

Draco smirks and a few of his students snicker amongst themselves. Draco tries to ignore them, even if this entire display was for their benefit. 

 

About a week ago, Harry would have taken this joke in stride and casually segued into the lesson by returning with an easy comeback, or friendly jab at Draco, but now he just coldly looked at Draco with downturned lips and something sad behind his eyes, before biting back, “Better late than never, but you would know that. Wouldn’t you, professor Malfoy.”

 

Draco clenches his jaw and doesn’t reply. Harry was obviously referring to Draco’s past as a deatheater, but if he said anything the students would obviously pick up on it. 

 

“So today we will start exploring the techniques and methods used to avoid projectiles and other players on the pitch, and the first thing we’ll discuss is-”

 

Draco is about to interrupt, but before he does a ravenclaw with bright pink hair raises her hand and says, “Professor Potter, sorry to interrupt, but Professor Malfoy already started the lesson.”

 

Harry glares at Draco out of the corner of his eye and says, “Oh really? Well how far did you guys get?” 

 

“We were discussing the Bartly technique,” She dutifully answers.

 

Darco can see Harry grinding his teeth together as he tries to keep his cool, undoubtedly angry that Draco had almost gotten to the end of the lesson before Harry had shown up. He takes a moment to answer, “I see,” he absent mindedly runs a hand through his hair and sighs before glaring at Draco, “Well since Professor Malfoy has already taught most of the lesson, I’ll just let him finish.” He turns and begins to walk towards the broom shed, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be preparing for the flying part of today’s lesson.”

 

The entire class cheers and completely loses interest in whatever Draco has to say with the news that they would actually be flying today, which is exactly why it was supposed to be a surprise. 

 

Draco sighs and tries to get the class under control as Harry stomps away to the broom shed with a satisfied smirk. 

 

He barely manages to subdue them by threatening to take away house points if they interrupt him anymore, and gets through the lesson which seems far less interesting than before, even to the most stuffy, knowledge-hungry ravenclaw. 

 

When the lesson is finally over and the students all rush to the changing rooms and begin eagerly chatting about finally being able to fly, Harry finally begins to walk back over to Draco two brooms in hand and a blank expression. 

 

Wordlessly, Harry hands over a broom and walks past him to the edge of the pitch, where he faces the empty field, his back turned to Draco. 

 

Draco sighs and goes to stand beside him without a word, staring at the grass between his feet, wishing with everything he was that he knew how to fix this, because he absolutely hates how things were between them now, how everything had seemed to change overnight. He hates how his something in his chest falls every time Harry insults him, or ignores him, or treats him as if he’s nothing but dirt under his shoe. He hates how things seemed to go back to how they used to be, as if everything they’ve gone through had meant nothing. 

 

The only thing Draco hates more than how things have turned is how he can’t do anything about it, or even worse how he feels about this turn of events.

 

A week ago things were perfect. He would invite Harry over for tea and biscuits and they would idly chat for hours before retiring to their respective rooms. Sometimes they would gossip about particularly pesky students, play board games, or relentlessly tease each other over nothing, but it was different now. Harry wouldn’t even look at him without glaring or making some cutting remark, he ignored him every time Draco tried to talk about what had happened, and when they went to each other’s rooms to plan lessons he always only talked about the lessons and stayed as long as needed to before he left. 

 

Draco hated being so lonely again, he missed Harry.

 

Draco sighs again, he knows things could only go downhill from here and if he could barely  handle a week of this, he couldn’t even imagine what a whole month would be like. 

 

Before he knows it his students are all running over, eager to fly, and Draco is soon kicking off  the ground and joining them up in the air.

 

* * *

 

Harry couldn’t do this. 

 

He shuts the door to his rooms behind him and trudges to his bedroom where he collapses face down onto his bedspread with a heavy sigh. 

 

He genuinely, actually couldn’t do this anymore. He can’t keep shrugging him off, he can’t keep avoiding and ignoring him, he can’t keep shooting down Draco’s every offer for peace as if he wanted to, because he didn’t. 

 

He rolls over and lays and arm over his eyes.

 

It was practically killing Harry to keep pushing him away like this, but he couldn’t think of what else to do to try and keep the reporters off his back.

 

Mcgonagall had managed to bar them from coming into the castle for an interview without permission, but it hadn’t stopped the sheer amount of letters he would get every day from pouring in, asking for his input or to issue a statement. He refuses to hire someone to sort through his letters again, like he had first done after the war, naively believing they wouldn’t tamper with his mail. He had gone through that fiasco before and he knew exactly how it would end; it was an experience he never wanted to relive. 

 

He has gotten to the point where he doesn’t check his mail anymore. He only accepts firecalls and the much rarer phone call from Hermione on a cellphone enchanted to work at Hogwarts. 

 

He lies on his bed for a while longer bemoaning his current problems when a somebody knocks on his door. He groans and sits up then stops himself from yelling in frustration when he realizes it’s probably Draco at his door trying to talk to him again. Or even if it’s not him, he really doesn’t want to answer the door so he can sulk in peace.

 

He sighs loudly and thinks about answering, before deciding he should probably just ignore it. 

 

“Potter!” 

 

He panics and leaps off the bed when he hears Draco’s muffled yell through the door. Then calms down when he realizes Draco would probably leave him alone if he just pretended he wasn’t here. 

 

“Potter! I need to talk to you!”

 

Harry stays quiet, holding his breath, almost as if Draco could hear him breathing. 

 

Everything is quiet for a moment before Draco’s muffled yell breaks the silence again, “Potter! Answer me! I know you’re in there!” 

 

Shit. Harry really didn’t want to talk to him right now,- well that’s a lie because he did, but he also didn’t want to at the same time.

 

“Potter!”

 

Harry cautiously steps into the living room and tries to think of something, but nothing comes to mind when thinking of a way to avoid Draco. 

 

“Potter!” 

 

Harry flinches at how much louder Darco is now that he’s in the living room and stares at the fireplace. 

 

Wait.

 

The fireplace!

 

Harry could smack himself with how much of an idiot he was being and rushes forward, grabbing some floo powder. 

 

He ducks into the fireplace and says, “Ron and Hermione’s place!” before throwing down a handful of floo powder. 

 

In a burst of green flames he tumbles into Ron and Hermione’s living room, covered in soot, and startling Ron who jumps backwards with a shout. 

 

“Harry! What the hell are you doing here!” Ron exclaims.

 

Harry coughs and takes off his glasses to clean the dust from the fireplace off the lens, “Hello to you too, Ron. I’m doing very well, thank you for asking.” 

 

“Harry! Give a little bit of warning before you decide to just drop in and track soot all over the carpet! Do you have any idea how mad Hermione is gonna get when she comes home and sees this mess!?” 

 

Harry puts his glasses back on and stares at Ron, “Ron, you are aware you are a wizard, right?”

 

Ron stares at him like he’s the one being an idiot and Harry takes out his wand and does a wordless cleaning spell on both himself and the carpet, to which Ron just goes, “Oh. Yeah, I kind of forgot I could just do that.” 

 

Harry rolls his eyes and gets to his feet before dramatically collapsing onto the nearest sofa, “Ron why does so much shit happen to me?” 

 

Ron moves an open bag of crisps out of the way and sits down next to him, “I don’t know Harry, it might have something to do with the fact you killed Voldemort and single handedly brought down an army of death eaters, but that’s just a guess.” 

 

Harry glares at him and sighs, “That isn’t what I meant Ron.”

 

“I know.”

 

They sit silence for a little bit before Harry asks, “So where’s Hermione?”

 

“She’s been working late, they still need her at the office to file stuff.”

 

“That’s rough.” 

 

“Yeah… So why are you here? Does it have anything to do with what’s been in the papers recently?”

 

“Kind of. Draco wanted to talk to me and I’ve been avoiding him for the past week to get the papers off my back, so I decided to come over here.”

 

“So you’re telling me you’ve been trying to avoid the one person you literally can’t avoid, so you could get a newspaper with a reputation that’s basically worse than a tabloid off your case, and  you decided the best way to do this would be to floo off of the hogwarts grounds and break into your friend’s house even if they possibly weren’t home.”

 

“Yes, but it’s worse than that.”

 

Ron sighs and rubs his face, “Of course it’s worse than that, you’re Harry Potter. If anything that would be a best case scenario.” 

 

Harry grins, “You get it!”

 

“I’ve been your friend for more than ten years, I’d be a little slow if I didn’t get it by now.”

 

“Anyway, I’ve been avoiding Draco and I’ve also been trying to get him to treat me like how he used to before we started teaching.”

 

Ron stares at him like he’s grown a second head, “I’m sorry, what? Are you literally telling me you’re trying to get him to bully you again?” 

 

Harry opens his mouth to defend himself, to say that’s not what he’s trying to do, but quickly closes it when he realizes that’s  _ exactly _ what he’s been trying to do. He hides his face behind his hands and groans, rubbing at his eyes, “Merlin’s balls, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re right. That’s what I was trying to do.” 

 

“Harry. Why the bloody hell would you do that? If you’re chumming it up with  _ Malfoy _ of all people, the last thing you would want to do is make that weasle hate you again.” 

 

“I know, Ron. I’m not sure what I was thinking, I think I was just really trying to get the message through to everyone that we weren’t…  _ involved _ , or anything and I overdid it.”

 

“Making him hate you isn’t going to make the press think you aren’t an item, if anything it’ll just make them think you  _ were  _ an item and the relationship ended badly.”

 

Harry stares at the carpet and tries to figure out how he’s been so stupid this entire time, “Ron, when did you get so good at stuff like this?”

 

Ron laughs, “Probably when I started to live with ‘Mione. I think her smartness is starting to rub off on me.” 

 

Harry nods, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

 

“Do want to wait until Hermione gets home and have dinner with us?”

 

Harry narrows his gaze, “Who’s turn is it to cook?”

 

“Hermione.”

 

Harry stands up suddenly, “You know, I should probably be getting back now! I need to go talk to Draco, you know!” 

 

Ron stands up too, “Harry, please! Don’t leave me to eat whatever is in that vegetarian casserole she makes! At least suffer through it with me!”

 

Harry dashes over to the fireplace and grabs some floo powder, leaving Ron’s pleading face behind in a storm of green flames as he stumbles into his own living room. 

 

He cleans the soot off of himself and his carpet, before checking the time. 

 

It’s only been fifteen minutes since he’s been gone and Draco is no longer shouting and  knocking at his door. He takes a deep breath and tries to ready himself, because he needed to go talk to Draco right now if he wanted to get everything he needed to say out the right way. 

 

He leaves his rooms and goes to stand in front of Draco’s door. He takes another deep breath and knocks, “Draco?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If we're both lucky I'll post sometime within the next two weeks, if we're not, well...
> 
> Sorry I've been gone for so long, I really like what I have written so far and I want to finish this, so I will be trying!
> 
> Another thing: Want to see what I've been uselessly staring at for four months instead of writing? Just go look at my wattpad, It has two personal projects I've been working on, as well as a whole collection of angsty prose and poetry. Here's a link: https://www.wattpad.com/user/RainAround


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